CONFESSIONAL 

And  Other  American  Plays 


BY 


PERCIVAL  WILDE 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1915 
BY  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1915 
BY  MITCHELL  KENNERLEY 

COPYRIGHT,  1915,  1916 
BY  PERCIVAL  WILDE 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into 
foreign  languages. 

These  plays  in  their  printed  form  are  designed  for  the 
reading  public  only.  All  dramatic  rights  in  them  are  fully 
protected  by  copyright  in  the  United  States  and  Great  Brit 
ain,  and  no  performance — professional  or  amateur — may  be 
given  without  the  written  permission  of  the  author  and  the 
payment  of  royalty.  Communications  may  be  addressed  to 
the  author,  care  of  Henry  Holt  and  Company,  34  West  33rd 
Street,  New  York  City. 


Published  February,  1916 


THE    QUINN    A    BODEN    CO.    PRESS 
RAHWAY,   N.   J. 


WALTER 

MORE  THAN    BROTHER FRIEND 


PREFACE 

TOGETHER  WITH  "  THE  SMILE  OF  RHADAMANTHOS," 
AN  EGYPTIAN  MORALITY,  Now  FOR  THE  FIRST 
(AND  LAST)  TIME  ENGLISHED. 

THE  writer  of  one-act  plays  is  in  a  peculiar 
position.  No  other  department  of  the  drama 
has  been  so  long  and  so  disastrously  neglected. 
The  world's  great  one-act  plays  may  be  checked  off 
on  the  fingers  of  one  hand.  Schnitzler,  Synge,  per 
haps  Sudermann,  and  not  more  than  one  or  two  others 
may  claim  that  they  have  done  work  of  more  than 
passing  merit  in  this  field ;  but  the  list  ends  there,  and 
at  that,  it  would  be  difficult  to  cite  five  titles  with 
out  including  plays  whose  right  to  figure  in  the  illus 
trious  minority  would  be  very  seriously  and  very  justly 
questioned. 

Where  there  are  no  standards,  each  must  shift  for 
himself.  The  writer  of  one-act  plays  must  venture 
into  uncharted  seas.  He  must  dare,  as  a  man  who 
knows  not  on  which  side  the  dangers  lie,  with  the  full 
knowledge  that  a  mistake  will  be  fatal. 

Yet  this  is  no  unmitigated  evil.  He  cannot  profit 
by  the  faults  of  the  past ;  but  he  can,  nevertheless,  com- 
vii 


viii  PREFACE 

mit  faults  which  others  may  avoid.  It  may  be  un 
fortunate  for  the  individual;  it  cannot  be  so  for  the 
mass.  In  the  last  analysis  bad  writing  is  possibly  as 
useful  as  good  writing.  The  sure  pilot  who  first 
steers  a  true  course  does  not,  perhaps,  render  so 
great  a  service  to  his  successors  as  the  unlucky  navi 
gator  who  comes  to  grief  on  a  hidden  rock,  and  re 
mains,  for  years  afterwards,  a  warning  of  what  not  to 
do. 

To  set  a  good  example  is  excellent;  but  to  set  a 
bad  example  for  the  future  admonition  of  others  is 
an  enduring  benefit.  Buoys  mark  dangers — not  safety. 
The  wake  of  him  who  has  passed  through  unscathed 
is  but  a  ripple  on  the  face  of  the  waters,  useless  except 
to  his  immediate  followers.  And  the  prudent  voy 
ager  bears  in  mind  that  every  passing  gust  also  pro 
duces  a  ripple,  and  locates  the  channel  by  guiding 
between  the  wrecks  on  either  side. 

These  premises,  then,  we  take  for  granted:  that  the 
one-act  play  is  an  independent  art  form;  that  it  is 
capable  of  producing  effects  totally  foreign  to  the 
longer  drama;  that  the  very  special  class  of  material 
which  naturally  falls  into  the  one-act  play  form  can 
in  no  other  way  be  as  potently  dealt  with. 

With  much  of  the  same  false  reasoning  that  holds 
that  a  story  is  the  miniature  of  the  novel,  the  one-act 
play  has  been  considered  a  condensation  of  a  larger 
work.  Nothing  could  be  more  unjust.  The  one-act  play 
moves  within  bounds  of  which  the  writer  of  long  plays -^. 
knows  nothing.  It  is  not  an  abbreviated  play;  much 
less,  as  a  rule,  is  it  the  material  out  of  which  a  longer 


PREFACE  ix 

play  can  be  made.  Unity  is  its  inspiration;  unity  is 
its  aim;  unity  is  its  soul.  Unity  is  at  once  its  main 
spring  and  its  escapement,  its  motive  power  and  its 
limitation.  The  swiftness  of  exposition,  the  brevity, 
the  homogeneity  of  effect  which  insists  that  every 
word  contribute  towards  that  effect,  these  are  neces 
sities  unknown  to  the  more  leisurely  three-  or  four- 
acter.  The  entire  first  act  of  a  long  play  may  be 
given  up  to  the  narration  of  what  has  come  before :  the 
one-act  play  must  accomplish  this  in  a  few  minutes. 
If,  in  the  course  of  the  long  play,  the  interest  flag 
momentarily,  little  is  lost.  Should  this  occur,  even 
for  an  instant,  the  one-act  play  is  ruined.  The  long 
play  has  dispensed  with  the  Greek  unities:  the  one- 
act  play  is  their  slave.  And  not  least  important,  the 
long  play  is  punctuated  by  intermissions,  during  which 
the  audience  may  reflect  and  digest:  the  one-act  play 
is  denied  their  help. 

A  single  effect,  conveyed  powerfully  or  delicately, 
or  poetically  or  rudely,  or  seriously  or  whimsically, 
according  to  the  character  of  the  effect  itself;  an  in 
stantaneous  arrest  of  attention,  a  continued  grasp,  and 
relinquishment  only  after  the  curtain  has  fallen ;  this 
is  the  goal  and  the  method  of  the  true  one-acter. 

That  it  achieves  its  greatest  effect  on  the  stage, 
rather  than  in  print,  goes  without  saying.  "  A  play," 
to  quote  Clayton  Hamilton's  comprehensive  definition, 
"  is  a  story  devised  to  be  presented  by  actors  on  a  stage 
before  an  audience."  Add  to  this  its  corollaries:  that  a 
play  is  essentially  based  upon  crisis,  and  that  it  is 
very  generally  expressed  in  terms  of  emotion.  Deduct 


x  PREFACE 

crisis,  do  away  with  emotion,  and  the  play,  as  a 
play,  has  ceased  to  exist.  The  two  are  the  founda 
tion  of  all  drama:  the  mathematics  of  Euclid  or  the 
philosophy  of  Kant,  dramatized,  would  show  both. 

Crisis  interpreted  by  emotion — our  realization  of 
the  first,  our  feeling  of  the  second,  are  increased  when 
we  share  them  with  others.  Points  which  escape  us 
in  the  reading  are  obvious  in  the  production ;  and  these 
points,  almost  without  exception,  are  those  to  which  we 
apply  the  adjective  "  dramatic."  When  the  Puritani 
cal  mother,  in  "  Fanny's  First  Play,"  turns  to  the 
"  daughter  of  joy  "  at  the  end  of  a  violent  scene  with 
the  extremely  human  question,  "  Where  did  you  buy 
that  white  lace?  "  the  audience  chortles  with  delight  at 
the  fidelity  of  the  characterization:  it  is  an  exquisitely 
true  touch.  In  the  printed  play  the  line  passes  with 
scant  attention.  At  the  best  it  may  evoke  a  smile  from 
one  of  the  unusual  readers  who  can  picture  a  situation 
in  his  mind's  eye.  But  that  is  all. 

Yet  there  are  some  who  argue  loudly  for  the  so- 
called  "closet  drama";  that  anomalous  hybrid  which 
written  in  the  form  of  a  play  is  not  meant  for  produc 
tion.  There  are  literary  cuckoos  who  decline  to  de 
posit  their  offspring  on  the  properly  labeled  shelf,  epic, 
narrative,  or  what  not;  who  brand  their  productions 
"  drama,"  and  shun  the  only  test  of  drama:  the  foot 
lights;  who,  like  our  restaurants,  serve  us  with  shells 
of  familiar  animals  filled  with  a  meat,  which  however 
excellent  in  itself,  belongs  elsewhere.  Wherefore  the 
discreet  author,  sensible  of  his  own  unworthiness  to 
hold  forth  on  a  subject  which  perplexes  abler  minds 


PREFACE  xi 

than  his,  terminates  his  preface  with  a  morality  re 
cently  deciphered  from  the  hieratic  by  a  learned  Egyp 
tologist,  and  here,  for  the  first  time,  offered  for  the 
delectation  of  a  modern  audience. 


THE  SMILE  OF  RHADAMANTHOS 

So  they  came  into  the  great  hall,  where  sate  the 
three  mighty  judges  of  the  dead,  even  Rhadamanthos, 
and  Minos,  and  Aeacos. 

Then  spake  Rhadamanthos  unto  the  first  shade,  and 
he  answered  him  in  fear  and  trembling: 

— I,   my   lord,   was   an   artist. 

— An  artist?  challenged  Aeacos,  and  his  deep  voice 
rumbled  and  echoed  from  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

— A  maker  of  pictures,  added  the  shade,  and  his 
limbs  quivered  beneath  him,  aye,  so  that  he  scarce 
could  stand  upright. 

— Then  why  dost  thou  tremble?  demanded  Minos. 

And  in  that  place  where  the  truth  must  be  spoken 
the  voice  of  the  maker  of  pictures  made  answer: 

— I  made  pictures — beautiful  pictures — but- 

—But? 

—But? 

—But? 

— They  were  not  intended  to  be  seen. 

Then  sighed  the  three  judges,  and  Minos  made  a 
mark  in  the  great  book  which  lay  open  before  him. 

And  Rhadamanthos  waved  the  first  shade  aside,  and 
turned  unto  the  second: 


xii  PREFACE 

— And  what,  in  life,  wast  thou? 

And  the  second  made  answer: 

— I,  my  lord,  was  an  artist. 

— An  artist?  challenged  Aeacos,  and  his  terrible 
voice  echoed  and  rumbled  from  the  vaulted  ceiling. 

— A  maker  of  music,  added  the  shade,  and  his  mus 
cles  were  as  wax  when  the  fire  burneth,  aye,  so  that 
he  barely  could  stand  upright. 

— Then  why  dost  thou  tremble?  demanded  Minos. 

And  in  that  place  where  the  truth  must  be  spoken 
the  voice  of  the  maker  of  music  made  answer: 

— I  made  symphonies — beautiful  symphonies — 
but 

—But? 

—But? 

—But? 

— They  were  not  intended  to  be  heard. 

Then  sighed  the  three  judges,  and  Minos  made  a 
second  mark  in  the  great  book  which  lay  open  before 
him. 

And  Rhadamanthos  waved  the  second  shade  aside, 
and  turned  unto  the  third: 

— And  what,  in  life,  wast  thou? 

And  the  third  shade  made  answer: 

— I,  my  lord,  was  an  artist. 

— An  artist  ?  challenged  Aeacos,  and  the  voice  of  him 
echoed  and  re-echoed  even  as  a  voice  of  thunder  from 
the  vaulted  ceiling. 

— A  maker  of  plays,  added  the  shade,  and  his  knees 
were  as  a  jelly,  aye,  his  spine  was  as  a  slender  reed  when 
the  raging  waters  overwhelm  it. 


PREFACE  xiii 

— Then  why  dost  thou  tremble?  demanded  Minos. 

And  in  that  place  where  the  truth  must  be  spoken 
the  voice  of  the  maker  of  plays  made  answer: 

— I  made  plays — beautiful  plays — but 

—But? 

-But? 

—But? 

— They  were  not  intended  to  be  acted. 

Then  sighed  the  three  mighty  judges,  aye,  sighed  as 
when  the  wind  of  autumn  sweeps  through  a  forest  of 
cedars.  And  Minos  made  so  great  a  mark  in  the  book 
which  lay  open  before  him  that  his  graphite  was  severed 
asunder. 

And  then  Rhadamanthos,  chief  of  all  the  judges, 
waved  the  unhappy  three  before  him. 

— Thou,  he  spake,  thou,  the  maker  of  things  whose 
essence  was  in  being  seen,  and  yet  were  not  to  be  seen, 
and  thou,  the  maker  of  things  whose  essence  was  in 
being  heard,  and  yet  were  not  to  be  heard,  proceed  to 
the  little  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall. 

And  the  miserable  shades  made  obeisance. 

— There,  spake  Rhadamanthos,  will  you  find  the 
shade  of  the  great  W.  S.  Gilbert,  who,  with  the  as 
sistance  of  his  Mikado,  will  determine  the  punishment 
to  fit  your  crime.  I  have  spoken. 

And  treading  mightily  on  the  tail  of  a  sleeping 
thunderbolt,  he  sent  for  a  messenger  of  ferocious  as 
pect  to  conduct  the  culprits  to  their  doom. 

Then  turned  Rhadamanthos  unto  the  shade  of  the 
maker  of  plays,  whose  teeth  now  chattered  as  if  he 
were  about  to  make  a  curtain  speech. 


xiv  PREFACE 

— As  for  thee,  spake  Rhadamanthos,  the  maker  of 
things  whose  essence  was  to  be  acted,  and  yet  were 
not  to  be  acted,  who  had  the  gift  of  creating  life  itself, 
but  who  created  only  a  sham  and  a  mockery  of  life, 
thy  case  will  we  judge  ourselves. 

So  consulted  Rhadamanthos  with  the  other  judges, 
aye,  even  with  Minos,  who  in  life  ruled  over  Crete, 
and  with  Aeacos,  son  of  Jupiter  and  Aegina. 

And  at  length  spake  Rhadamanthos: 

— Thou,  maker  of  plays  (and  the  attentive  Minos 
wrote  down  each  word  of  the  inviolable  decree),  thou 
wilt  prepare  for  publication  by  the  Hades  Press  a  com 
plete  edition  of  thy  writings.  They  will  be  issued  for 
subscribers  only,  on  Japanese  vellum,  in  twenty  royal 
octavo  volumes,  richly  bound  in  genuine  crushed  levant, 
top  and  side  edges  gilt,  with  blind  tooling  and  inlaid 
doublures  by  the  shade  of  Clovis  Eve.  There  will  be 
notes  by  twenty  distinguished  commentators,  and  there 
will  be  an  engraved  portrait  of  the  author  as  frontis 
piece  in  each  volume.  I  have  spoken. 

Then  the  shade  of  the  amazed  maker  of  plays,  un 
able  to  believe  his  ears,  turned  unto  the  mighty  Rha 
damanthos  : 

— This,  he  asked,  only  this  is  to  be  my  punishment? 

— Only  this,  spake  Rhadamanthos. 

— I  thank  your  excellencies,  said  the  shade  of  the 
maker  of  plays,  and  bowing  low,  he  was  led  away. 

Then  smiled  Rhadamanthos,  aye,  and  Minos,  the 
just  judge,  and  Aeacos,  who  in  life  erected  the  temple 
of  Zeus  Panhellenius,  also  smi  ******* 


PREFACE  xv 

Here,  in  the  middle  of  a  word,  the  palimpsest  breaks 
off.  But  learned  Egyptologists  who  are  familiar  with 
the  publications  of  the  Hades  Press  inform  us  that 
the  richly  bound  volumes  are  invariably  printed  in 
invisible  ink. 

NEW  YORK, 
December,  1915. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CONFESSIONAL 9  i 

THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE      ....  45 

ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN     .       ,       .       .       .  77 

A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY       .       .       .       .  117   v^ 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 147 


CONFESSIONAL 
A  PLAY 


CHARACTERS 

ROBERT  BALDWIN. 
MARTHA,  his  wife. 
JOHN,  his  son. 
EVIE,  his  daughter. 
MARSHALL. 
A  MAID. 


CONFESSIONAL 

/T  is  a  rather  hot  and  sultry  Sunday  afternoon, 
and  the  sun  overhead  and  the  baked  clay  under 
foot  are  merciless.  In  the  distance,  lowering 
clouds  give  promise  of  coming  relief.  And  at  the  par 
lor  window  of  a  trim  little  cottage  the  Baldwin  family 
is  anxiously  awaiting  the  return  of  its  head. 

JOHN,  the  son,  an  average  young  man  of  twenty- 
seven,  is  smoking  a  pipe  as  philosophically  as  if  this  day 
were  in  no  whit  more  momentous  than  any  other.  But 
his  mother,  trying  to  compose  herself  with  her  knitting, 
has  made  little  progress  in  the  last  half  hour;  and  EVIE, 
his  sister,  takes  no  pains  to  conceal  her  nervousness. 

There  is  a  tense  pause.  It  seems  as  if  none  of  them 
likes  to  break  the  silence.  For  the  tenth  time  in  ten 
minutes,  EVIE  goes  to  the  window  and  looks  out  along 
the  sultry  road. 

MARTHA 
It's  time  he  was  home. 

EVIE 

Yes,  mother. 

MARTHA 

I  do  hope  he  hasn't  forgotten  his  umbrella:  he  has 

such  a  habit  of  leaving  it  behind  him 

3 


CONFESSIONAL 
EVIE 


Yes,  mother. 


MARTHA 

It  might  rain.  Don't  you  think  so,  Evie?  (With 
out  waiting  for  an  answer  she  goes  to  the  window  and 
looks  out  anxiously.)  The  sky  is  so  dark.  (She 
starts.)  There  was  a  flash  of  lightning!  (JOHN 
rises  slowly,  moves  to  a  center  table,  and  knocks  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  His  mother  turns  to  him.) 
John,  run  into  your  father's  room  and  see  that  the  win 
dows  are  closed.  There's  a  good  boy. 

JOHN 
Right-o.     (He  goes.) 

EVIE 

(After  a  pause) 

Mother.  (There  is  no  answer.)  Mother!  (MRS. 
BALDWIN  turns  slowly.)  What  does  Mr.  Gresham 
want  with  him?  Has  he  done  anything  wrong? 

MARTHA 
(Proudly) 
Your  father?    No,  Evie. 

EVIE 
Then  why  did  Mr.  Gresham  send  for  him? 

MARTHA 
He  wanted  to  talk  to  him. 


CONFESSIONAL  5 

EVIE 

What  about?  Mr.  Gresham  has  been  arrested: 
they're  going  to  try  him  to-morrow.  What  c?.n  he 
want  with  father? 

MARTHA 
Your  father  will  have  to  testify. 

EVIE 

But  he's  going  to  testify  against  Mr.  Gresham.  Why 
should  Mr.  Gresham  want  to  see  him? 

MARTHA 

I  don't  know,  Evie.  You  know,  your  father  doesn't 
say  much  about  his  business  affairs.  (She  pauses.)  I 
didn't  know  there  was  anything  wrong  with  the  bank 
until  I  saw  it  in  the  papers.  Your  father  wouldn't 
tell  me  to  draw  my  money  out — he  thought  it  wasn't 
loyal  to  Mr.  Gresham.  (EviE  nods.)  I  did  it  of  my 
own  accord — against  his  wishes — when  I  suspected 

EVIE 

(After  a  pause) 

Do  you  think  that  father  had  anything  to  do  with — 
with (67*6-  does  not  like  to  say  it.) 

MARTHA 

With  the  wrecking  of  the  bank?  You  know  him 
better  than  that,  Evie. 


6  CONFESSIONAL 

EVIE 

But  did  he  know  what  was  going  on?  You  know 
what  the  papers  are  saying 

MARTHA 
They  haven't  been  fair  to  him,  Evie. 

EVIE 

Perhaps  not.  But  they  said  he  must  have  been  a 
fopl  not  to  know.  They  said  that  only  he  could  have 
known — he  and  Mr.  Gresham.  Why  didn't  he  stop 
it? 

MARTHA 
He  was  acting  under  Mr.  Gresham 's  orders. 

EVIE 

(  Contemptuously  ) 
Mr.  Gresham 's  orders !    Did  he  have  to  follow  them  ? 

MARTHA 
(After  a  pause) 

Evie,  I  don't  believe  your  father  ever  did  a  wrong 
thing  in  his  life — not  if  he  knew  it  was  wrong.  He 
found  out  by  accident — found  out  what  Mr.  Gresham 
was  doing. 

EVIE 
How  do  you  know  that? 


•w 

CONFESSIONAL  7 

MARTHA 

I  don't  know  it:  I  suspect  it — something  he  said. 
(Eagerly.)  You  see,  Evie,  he  cant  have  done  any 
thing  wrong.  They  haven't  indicted  him. 

EVIE 
(Slowly) 

No.  They  didn't  indict  him — because  they  want 
him  to  testify  against  Mr.  Gresham.  That's  little  con 
solation,  mother. 

(JOHN  re-enters.) 

MARTHA 

(Seizing  the  relief) 
Were  the  windows  open,  John? 

JOHN 

(Shortly) 

I've  closed  them.  (He  crosses  to  the  table,  takes  up 
his  pipe,  and  refills  it.)  Look  here,  mater:  what  does 
Gresham  want  with  the  governor? 

EVIE 

(  Nodding ) 
I've  just  been  asking  that. 

MARTHA 
I  don't  know,  John. 


8  CONFESSIONAL 

JOHN 

Didn't  you  ask  him?  (As  she  does  not  answer.) 
Well? 

MARTHA 

Yes,  I  asked  him.  He  didn't  say,  John.  (Anx 
iously.)  I  don't  think  he  knew  himself. 

JOHN 

(After  an  instant's  thought) 
I  was  talking  to  the  assistant  cashier  yesterday. 

EVIE 
Donovan? 

JOHN 

Yes,  Donovan.  I  saw  him  up  at  the  Athletic  Club. 
He  said  that  nobody  had  any  idea  that  there  was  any 
thing  wrong  until  the  crash  came.  Donovan  had  been 
there  eight  years.  He  thought  he  was  taken  care  of 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  had  gotten  married  on  the 
strength  of  it.  And  then,  one  morning,  there  was  a 
sign  up  on  the  door.  It  was  like  a  bolt  out  of  a  clear 
sky. 

EVIE 
And  father? 

JOHN 

He  says  the  governor  must  have  known.  He'll  swear 
nobody  else  did.  You  see,  father  was  closer  to  Gresham 


CONFESSIONAL  9 

than  anyone  else.     That  puts  him  in  a  nice  position, 
doesn't  it? 

MARTHA 
What  do  you  mean,  John? 

JOHN 

The  governor  the  only  witness  against  John  Gresham 
— and  me  named  after  him!  John  Gresham  Baldwin, 
at  your  service ! 

MARTHA 

Your  father  will  do  his  duty,  John,  no  matter  what 
comes  of  it. 

JOHN 
(Shortly) 

I  know  it.  And  I'm  not  sure  but  what  it's  right. 
(They  look  at  him  inquiringly.}  There's  John 
Gresham,  growrn  rich  in  twenty  years,  and  the  gover 
nor  pegging  along  as  his  secretary  at  sixty  dollars  a 
week! 

MARTHA 
Your  father  never  complained. 

JOHN 

No;  that's  just  the  pity  of  it.  He  didn't  complain. 
Well,  he'll  have  his  chance  to-morrow.  He'll  go  on 
the  stand,  and  when  he's  through,  they'll  put  John 


io  CONFESSIONAL 

Gresham  where  he  won't  be  able  to  hurt  anybody  for 
a  while.  Wasn't  satisfied  with  underpaying  his  em 
ployes:  had  to  rob  his  depositors!  Serves  him  jolly 
well  right! 

MARTHA 

(Rather  timidly) 

I  don't  think  your  father  would  like  you  to  talk  that 
way,  John. 

JOHN 

(Shrugs     his     shoulders     with     a     contemptuous: 
"Humph!") 

MARTHA 

Your  father  has  nothing  against  Mr.  Gresham.    He 
will  tell  the  truth — nothing  but  the  truth. 

JOHN 

Did  you  think  I  expected  him  to  lie?     Not  father! 
He'll  tell  the  truth :  just  the  truth.    It'll  be  plenty ! 

EVIE 

(At  the  window) 
There's  father  now! 

(There  is  the  dick   of  a  latchkey   outside. 
EVIE   makes  for  the  door.) 

MARTHA 

Evie!     You  stay  here:   let  me  talk  to  him  first. 
(MARTHA    hurries   out.     JOHN    and   EVIE 
look  at  each  other.) 


CONFESSIONAL  n 

JOHN 

Wonder  what  Gresham  had  to  say  to  him?  (EviE 
shrugs  her  shoulders.  He  turns  away  to  the  window.) 
It's  started  to  rain. 

EVIE 

Yes. 

(There  is  a  pause.     Suddenly  JOHN  crosses 
to  the  door,  and  flings  it  open.) 

JOHN 
Hullo,  dad! 

BALDWIN 

(Coming  in,  followed  by  MARTHA) 
How  are  you,  my  boy?      (He  shakes  hands  with 
JOHN.)     Evie!     (He  kisses  her.) 

MARTHA 
You  are  sure  your  shoes  aren't  wet,  Robert? 

BALDWIN 
(Shaking  his  head) 
I  took  the  car.    Not  a  drop  on  me.    See? 

(He  passes  his  hands  over  his  sleeves.  He 
goes  to  a  chair:  9&s.  There  is  an  awkward 
pause.) 

JOHN 

Well,  dad?  Don't  you  think  it's  about  time  you 
told  us  something? 


12  CONFESSIONAL 

BALDWIN 
Told  you  something?    I  don't  understand,  John. 

JOHN 

People     have     been     talking     about     you — saying 
things 

BALDWIN 
What  kind  of  things,  John? 

JOHN 

You  can  imagine:  rotten  things.     And  I  couldn't 
contradict  them. 

BALDWIN 

V7K  m>-    Jc :.  / ; 

JOHN 
Because  I  didn  t  know. 

BALDWIN 

Did  you  hdve  to  know  ?    Wasn't  it  enough  that  you 
knew  your  father? 

JOHN 

(After  a  pause) 
I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 

BALDWIN 

It  was  two  days  before  the  smash-up  that  I  found  out 
what  Gresham  was  doing.      (He  pauses.     They  are 


CONFESSIONAL  13 

listening  intently.)     I  told  him  he  would  have  to  make 
good.     He  said  he  couldn't 

EVIE 

(As  he  does  not  continue) 
And  what  happened? 

BALDWIN 

I  told  him  he  would  have  to  do  the  best  he  could — 
and  the  first  step  would  be  to  close  the  bank.  He 
didn't  want  to  do  that. 

M  VRTHA 
But  he  did  it. 

BALDWIN 

I  made  him  do  it.  He  was  angry — very  angry,  but 
I  had  the  whip  hand. 

EVIE 
The  papers  didn't  mention  that. 

BALDWIN 
I  didn't  think  it  was  necessary  to  tell  them. 

MARTHA 

But  you  let  your  name  rest  under  a  cloud  mean 
while. 


H  CONFESSIONAL 

y 
BALDWIN 

It  will  be  cleared  to-morrow,  won't  it?  (He 
pauses. )  To-day  Gresham  sent  for  me.  The  trial  be 
gins  in  twenty-four  hours.  I'm  the  only  witness  against 
him.  He  asked — you  can  guess  what 

JOHN 

(Indignantly) 

He  wanted  you  to  lie  to  save  his  skin,  eh  ?  Wanted 
you  to  perjure  yourself? 

BALDWIN 

That  wouldn't  be  necessary,  John.  He  just  wanted 
me  to  have  an  attack  of  poor  memory.  If  I  tell  all  I 
know,  John  Gresham  will  go  to  jail — no  power  on 
earth  can  save  him  from  it.  But  he  wants  me  to  for 
get  a  little — just  the  essential  things.  When  they  ques 
tion  me  I  can  answer  "  I  don't  remember."  They  can't 
prove  I  do  remember.  And  there  you  are. 

JOHN 
It  would  be  a  lie,  dad! 

BALDWIN 

(Smiling) 

Of  course.  But  it's  done  every  day.  And  they 
couldn't  touch  me — any  more  than  they  could  convict 
him. 


CONFESSIONAL  15 

MARTHA 

(Quivering  with  indignation) 
How  dared  he — how  dared  he  ask  such  a  thing ! 

EVIE 

^.*...*k.  .ha  yoa  fay,  father? 

BALDWIN 

(Smiling,  and  raising  his  eyes  to   JOHN'S) 
Well,  son,  what  would  you  have  said  ? 

JOHN 
I'd  have  told  him  to  go  to  the  devil! 

BALDWIN 
(Nodding) 
I  did. 

JOHN 
Bully  for  you,  governor! 

M.-'.RT'IA 

,**djf) 


BALDWIN 

I  didn't  use  your  words,  John.  He's  too  old  a  friend 
of  mine  for  that.  But  I  didn't  mince  matters  any.  He 
understood  what  I  meant. 


16  CONFESSIONAL 

EVIE 
And  what  did  he  say  then  ? 


BALDWIN 

There  wasn't  much  to  say.  You  see,  he  wasn't  sur 
prised.  He's  known  me  for  thirty-five  years,  and,  well, 
(with  simple  pride)  anybody  who's  known  me  for 
thirty-five  years  doesn't  expect  me  to  haggle  with  my 
conscience.  If  it  had  been  anybody  else  than  John 
Gresham  I  would  have  struck  him  across  the  face.  But 
John  Gresham  and  I  were  boys  together.  We  worked 
side  by  side.  And  I've  been  in  his  employ  ever  since 
he  started  in  for  himself.  He  is  desperate — he  doesn't 
know  what  he  is  doing — or  he  wouldn't  have  offered 
me  money. 

JOHN 
(Furious) 
Offered  you  money,  dad? 

BALDWIN 

He'd  put  it  aside,  ready  for  the  emergency.  If  they 
don't  convict  him,  he'll  hand  it  over  to  me.  The  law 
can't  stop  him.  But  if  I  live  until  to-morrow  night, 
they  will  convict  him!  (He  sighs.)  God  knows  I 

want  -  no  share  in  bringing  about  his  punishment 

(He  breaks' f^ff. .  EVIE  pats  his  hand  silently.)  Young 
man  and  old  man,  I've  worked  with  him  or  for  him 
the  best  part  of  my  life.  I'm  loyal  to  him — I've  always 


CONFESSIONAL  17 

been  loyal  to  him — but  when  John  Gresham  ceases  to 
be  an  honest  man,  John  Gresham  and  I  part  company ! 

,  --ng  softly) 


BALDWIN 

I've  got  only  a  few  years  to  live,  but  I'll  live  those 
as  I've  lived  the  rest  of  my  life.  I'll  go  to  my  grave 
clean!  (He  rises  presently,  goes  to  the  window,  and 
looks  out.)  The  rain's  stopped,  hasn't  it? 

FV1£ 

(F'//c-ir/»;  •  'iiiin  and  taking  his  hand) 
Ytr:      tl-ex. 

BALDWIN 
It'll  be  a  fine  day  to-morrow. 

( There  is  a  pause. ) 

JOHN 
Dad. 

BALDWIN 
Yes? 

JOHN 

What  did  Gresham  offer  you? 


•• 

i8  CONFESSIONAL 

BALDWIN 
(Simply) 

A  hundred  thousand  dollars. 

EVIE 
What?! 

MARTHA 

Robert ; 

BALDWIN 

He  put  it  aside  for  me  without  anybody  knowing  it. 
It's  out  of  his  private  fortune,  he  says.  It's  not  the 
depositors'  money — as  if  that  made  any  difference. 

EVIE 

(As  if  hypnotized) 
He  offered  you  a  hundred  thousand  dollars? 


BALDWIN 

(Smiling  at  her  amazement) 

I  could  have  had  it  for  the  one  word  "  Yes  " 

even  for  nodding  my  head — or  a  look  of  the  eyes. 

JOHN 
How — how  do  you  know  he  meant  it? 

BALDWIN 
His  word  is  good. 


CONFESSIONAL  19 

JOHX 

Even  now? 

BALDWIN 

He  never  lied  to  me,  John.  (He  pauses.)  I  sup 
pose  my  eyes  must  have  shown  something  I  didn't  feel. 
He  noticed  it.  He  unlocked  a  drawer  and  showed  me 
the  hundred  thousand. 

JOHN 
In  cash ' 

BALDWIN 

In  thousand-dollar  bills.  They  were  genuine:  I 
examined  them. 

EVIE 
(Slowly) 

And  for  that  he  wants  you  to  say  "  I  don't  remem 
ber." 

BALDWIN 
(Smiling) 
Just  that:  three  words  only. 

JOHN 
But  you  won't? 

BALDWIN 
(Shaking  his  head) 

Those  three  words  would  choke  me  if  I  tried  to  speak 
them.  For  some  other  man,  perhaps,  it  would  be  easy. 


20  CONFESSIONAL 

But  for  me?  All  of  my  past  would  rise  up  and  strike 
me  in  the  face.  It  would  mean  to  the  world  that  for 
years  I  had  been  living  a  lie :  that  I  was  not  the  honor 
able  man  I  thought  I  was..  When  John  Gresham 
offered  me  money,  I  was  angry.  But  when  I  rejected 
it,  and  he  showed  no  surprise,  then  I  was  pleased.  It 
was  a  compliment,  don't  you  think  so? 

JOHN 

(!.'iwly) 
Rather  an  expe.n.1-.     compliment. 

BALDWIN 
Eh? 

JOHN 

A  compliment  which  cost  you  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars. 

BALDWIN 

A  compliment  which  was  worth  a  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars.  I've  never  had  that  much  money  to  spend 
in  my  life,  John,  but  if  I  had  I  couldn't  imagine  a  finer 
way  to  spend  it. 

JOHN 
(Slowly) 

Yes.    I  c. impose  so. 


CONFESSIONAL  21 

MARTHA 
(After  a  pause) 
Will  the  depositors  lose  much,  Robert? 

BALDWIN 
{Emphatically.) 

The  depositors  will  not  lose  a  cent. 

EVIE 

(Surprised) 
But  the  papers  said 

BALDWIN 
(Interrupting) 

They  had  to  print  something :  they  guessed.    /  know. 
/  tell  you. 

MARTHA 
But  you  never  said  so  before. 

BALDWIN 

I    left    that   for   Gresham.     It   will   come   out   to 
morrow. 

JOHN 

Why  to-morrow?     Why  didn't  you  say  so  before? 
The  papers  asked  you  often  enough. 

BALDWIN 
Nothing  forced  me  to  answer,  John. 


22  CONFESSIONAL 

JOHN 

That  wasn't  your  real  reason,  was  it,  dad?  You 
knew  the  papers  would  keep  right  on  calling  you 
names.  (BALDWIN  does  not  answer.  JOHN'S  face 
lights  up  with  sudden  understanding.}  You  wanted  to 
let  Gresham  announce  it  himself:  because  it  will  be 
something  in  his  favor!  Eh? 

BALDWIN 

Yes.  .  .  .  We  were  able  to  save,  something  from 
the  wreck,  Gresham  and  I.  It  was  more  than  I  had 
expected — almost  twice  as  much — and  with  what 
Gresham  has  it  will  be  enough. 

EVIE 
Even  wifboi'i.  i.v:;  •     idred  thousand? 

(BALDWIN  does  not  answer.) 

JOHN 

(Insistently) 

Without  the  money  that  Gresham  had  put  away 
for  you? 

BALDWIN 

Yes.  I  didn't  know  there  was  the  hundred  thou 
sand  until  to-day.  Gresham  didn't  tell  me.  'We 
reckoned  without  it. 

EVIE 
Oh! 


CONFESSIONAL  23 

JOHN 
And  you  made  both  ends  meet? 

^    V 

BALDWIN 

Quite  easily.  (He  smiles.)  Marshall  is  running 
the  re-organization;  Marshall  of  the  Third  National. 
He  hasn't  the  least  idea  that  it's  going  to  turn  out  so 
well. 

(There  is  a  pause.) 

JOHN 
They're  going  to  punish  Gresham,  aren't  they? 

BALDWIN 
I'm  afraid  so. 

JOHN 

What  for? 

BALDWIN 
Misappropriating  the  funds  of  the 

JOHN 

(Interrupting) 

Oh,  I  know  that.  But  what  crime  has  he  com 
mitted  ? 

BALDWIN 
That's  a  crime,  John. 


24  CONFESSIONAL 

EVIE 
But  if  nobody  loses  anything  by  it? 

BALDWIN 
It's  a  crime  nevertheless. 

JOHN 
And  they're  going  to  punish  him  for  it! 

BALDWIN 
They  can't  let  him  go,  John.    He's  too  conspicuous. 

JOHN 
Do  you  think  that's  right,  governor? 

BALDWIN 
My  opinion  doesn't  matter,  John. 

JOHN 
But  what  do  you  think? 

BALDWIN 

I  think — I  think  that  I'm  sorry  for  John  Gresham — 
terribly  sorry. 

JOHN 
(Slowly) 

It's  nothing  but  a  technicality,  dad.     Nobody  loses 
a  cent.     It's  rather  hard  on  Gresham,  I  say. 


CONFESSIONAL  25 

BALDWIN 
(After  a  pause) 
Yes,  John. 

EVIE 

(Timidly) 

Would  it  be  such  an  awful  thing,  father,  if  you  let 
him  off? 

BALDWIN 
(Smiling) 
I  wish  I  could,  Evie.    But  I'm  not  the  judge. 

EVIE 
No,  but 

BALDWIN 
But  what? 

EVIE 
You're  the  only  witness  against  him. 

BALDWIN 
(Nonplussed) 
Evie! 

JOHN 
She's  right,  governor. 

BALDWIN 
You  too,  John  ? 


26  CONFESSIONAL 

JOHN 

It's  going  to  be  a  nasty  mess  if  they  put  John 
Gresham  in  jail — with  your  own  son  named  after  him! 
It's  going  to  be  pleasant  for  me!  John  Gresham 
Baldwin ! 

MARTHA 
(After  a  pause) 

Robert,  I'm  not  sure  I  understood  what  you  said 
before.  What  did  Mr.  Gresham  want  you  to  do  for 
him? 

BALDWIN 
Get  him  off  to-morrow. 

MARTHA 
You  could  do  that? 

BALDWIN 
Yes. 

MARTHA 
How? 

BALDWIN 

By  answering  "  I  don't  remember  "  when  they  ask 
me  dangerous  questions. 

MARTHA 
Oh!    And  you  do  remember? 


CONFESSIONAL  27 

BALDWIN 
Yes.     Nearly  everything. 

JOHN 
No  matter  what  they  ask  you? 

BALDWIN 
I  i  an  always  refresh  my  memory.     You  see,  I  have 


JOHN 
Hut  without  those  notes  you  wouldn't  remember? 

BALDWIN 
What  do  you  mean,  John? 

JOHN 

(Without  answering) 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  will  have  to  rely  on  your 
notes  nearly  altogether,  won't  you? 

BALDWIN 

Everybody  else  does  the  same  thing. 

JOHN 

Then  it  won't  be  far  from  the  truth  if  you  say  "  I 
don't  remember  "  ? 

MARTHA 

I  don't  see  that  Mr.  Gresham  is  asking  so  much  of 
you. 


28  CONFESSIONAL 

BALDWIN 
Martha ! 

MARTHA 
Robert,  I'm  as  honorable  as  you  are 

BALDWIN 
That  goes  without  saying,  Martha. 

MARTHA 

It  doesn't  seem  right  to  me  to  send  an  old  friend 
to  jail.  (As  he  speaks  she  holds  up  hrr  hand.)  Now 
don't  interrupt  me!  I've  been  thinking.  The  day 
John  was  baptized:  when  Mr.  Gresham  stood  sponsor 
for  him:  how  proud  we  were!  And  when  we  came 
home  from  the  church  you  said — do  you  remember 
what  you  said,  Robert? 

BALDWIN 
No.     What  was  it? 

MARTHA 

You  said,  "  Martha,  may  our  son  always  live  up  to 
the  name  which  we  have  given  him !  "  Do  you  re 
member  that? 

BALDWIN 

Yes — dimly. 

JOHN 
Ha!    Only  dimly,  governor? 


CONFESSIONAL  29 

BALDWIN 
What  do  you  mean,  John? 

MARTHA 

(Giving   JOHN    no   opportunity   to  answer) 
It  would  be  sad — very  sad — if  the  name  of  John 
Gresham,  our  son's  name,  should  come  to  grief  through 
you,  Robert. 

BALDWIN 
(After  a  pause) 

Martha,  are  you  telling  me  to  accept  the  bribe  money 
that  John  Gresham  offered  me? 

EVIE 
Why  do  you  call  it  bribe  money,  father? 

BALDWIN 

(Bitterly) 

Why  indeed?  Gresham  had  a  prettier  name  for  it. 
He  said  that  he  had  underpaid  me  all  these  years. 
You  know,  I  was  getting  only  sixty  dollars  a  week 
when  the  crash  came 


JOHN 

(Impatiently) 
Yes,  yes? 


30  CONFESSIONAL 

BALDWIN 

He  said  a  hundred  thousand  represented  the  dif 
ference  between  what  he  had  paid  me  and  what  I  had 
actually  been  worth  to  him. 

MARTHA 

That's  no  less  than  true,  Robert.  You've  worked 
for  him  very  faithfully. 

BALDWIN 

He  said  that  if  he  had  paid  me  what  he  should  have, 
I  would  have  put  by  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
by  now. 

JOHN 
That's  so,  isn't  it,  dad? 

BALDWIN 

Who  knows  ?  I  never  asked  him  to  raise  my  salary. 
When  he  raised  it  it  was  of  his  own  accord.  ( There  is 
a  pause.  He  looks  around.)  Well,  what  do  you  think 
of  it,  Evie? 

EVIE 

(Hesitantly) 
If  you  go  on  the  stand  to-morrow 

BALDWIN 
Yes? 


CONFESSIONAL  31 

EVIE 
And  they  put  John  Gresham  in  jail,  what  will  people 


say? 


BALDWIN 

They  will  say  I  have  done  my  duty,  Evie;  no  more 
and  no  less. 

EVIE 


BALDWIN 
Why,  what  should  they  say  ?' 

EVIE 

/  don't  think  so,  of  course,  but  other  people  might 
say  that  you  had  turned  traitor  to  your  best  friend. 

BALDWIN 
You  don't  mean  that,  Evie? 

EVIE 

When  they  find  out  that  they  haven't  lost  any  money 
—  when  John  Gresham  tells  them  that  he  will  pay  back 
every  cent  —  then  they  won't  want  him  to  go  to  jail. 
They'll  feel  sorry  for  him. 

BALDWIN 
Yes,  I  belirve  that.    I  hope  so. 


32  CONFESSIONAL 

JOHN 

And  they  won't  feel  too  kindly  disposed  towards 
the  man  who  helps  put  him  in  jail. 

MARTHA 
They'll  say  you  went  back  on  an  old  friend,  Robert. 

JOHN 
When  you  pull  out  your  notes  in  court,  to  be  sure 

of  sending  him  to  jail ! 

(He  breaks  off  with  a  snort.) 

EVIE 

And    Mr.    Gresham   hasn't   done   anything   really 
wrong. 

JOHN 

It's  a  technicality,  that's  what  it  is.    Nobody  loses  a 
cent.    Nobody  wants  to  see  him  punished. 

EVIE 
Except  you,  father. 

JOHN    . 

Yes.    And    you're   willing   to   jail   the   man   after 
whom  you  named  your  son! 

MARTHA 

(After  a  pause) 
I  believe  in  being  merciful,  Robert. 


CONFESSIONAL  33 

BALDWIN 


Merciful  ? 


MARTHA 
Mr.  Gresham  has  always  been  very  good  to  you. 

( There  is  another  pause.  Curiously  enough, 
they  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to  meet  each 
other  s  eyes.) 

^\bf^ 

MARTHA 
Ah,  well!    What  are  you  going  to  do  now,  Robert? 

BALDWIN 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

MARTHA 
You  have  been  out  of  work  since  the  bank  closed. 

BALDWIN 

(Shrugging  his  shoulders) 
Oh,  I'll  find  a  position. 

MARTHA 

(Shaking  her  head) 
At  your  age ? 

BALDWIN 
It's  the  man  that  counts. 


34  CONFESSIONAL 

MARTHA 
Yes.    You  said  that  a  month  ago. 

JOHN 
I  heard  from  Donovan 

BALDWIN 
(Quickly) 
What  did  you  hear? 

JOHN 
He's  gone  with  the  Third  National,  you  know. 

BALDWIN 
Yes;  he's  helping  with  the  re-organization. 

JOHN 
They  wouldn't  take  you  on  there 

BALDWIN 

Their  staff  was  full.    They  couldn't  very  well  offer 
me  a  position  as  a  clerk. 

JOHN 
That  was  what  they  told  you. 

BALDWIN 
Wasn't  it  true? 


CONFESSIONAL  35 

JOHN 

(Shakes  his  head) 

Marshall  said  4re  wouldn't  employ  a  man  who  was 
just  as  guilty  as  John  Gresham. 

BALDWIN 
But  I'm  not! 

JOHN 
Who  knows  it? 

BALDWIN 
Everybody  will  to-morrow ! 

JOHN 

Will  they  believe  you?    Or  will  they  think  you're 
trying  to  save  your  own  skin  ? 

BALDWIN 
I  found  out  only  a  day  before  the  smash. 

JOHN 
Who  will  believe  that? 

BALDWIN 
They  will  have  to! 

JOHN 

How  will  you  make  them?     I'm  afraid  you'll  find 
that  against  you  wherever  you  go,   governor.     Your 


36  CONFESSIONAL 

testifying  against  John  Gresham  won't  make  things  any 
better.  If  you  ever  get  another  job,  it  will  be  with  him! 
(This  is  a  startling  idea  to  BALDWIN,  who  shows  his 
surprise.)  If  Gresham  doesn't  go  to  jail,  he'll  start  in 
business  again,  won't  he  ?  And  he  can't  offer  you  any 
thing  less  than  a  partnership. 

BALDWIN 
A  partnership? 

JOHN 

(With  meaning) 

With  the  hundred  thousand  capital  you  could  put 
in  the  business,  dad. 

BALDWIN 
John! 

JOHN 

Of  course,  the  capital  doesn't  matter.  He'll  owe  you 
quite  a  debt  of  gratitude  besides. 

( There  is  a  pause. ) 

MARTHA 

A  hundred  thousand  would  mean  a  great  deal  to  us, 
Robert.  If  you  don't  find  a  position  soon  John  will 
have  to  support  us. 

JOHN 
On  thirty  dollars  a  week,  dad. 


CONFESSIONAL  37 

EVIF 
That  won't  go  very  far. 

MARTHA 
It's  not  fair  to  John. 


JOHN  * 

(Angrily) 
Oh,  don't  bother  about  me. 

(EviE  begins  to  weep.) 

JOHN 

Look  here,  governor,  you've  said  nothing  to  the 
papers.  If  you  say  nothing  more  to-morrow  what  does 
it  amount  to  but  sticking  to  your  friend?  It's  the 
square  thing  to  do  —  he'd  do  as  much  for  you. 

BALDWIN 
(Looks  appealingly  from  one  face  to  another.     They 

are  averted.     Then  :  ) 

You  —  you  want  me  to  take  this  money  ?  (  There  is 
no  answer.)  Say  "Yes,"  one  of  you.  (StiU  no  an- 
swer.)  Or  "No."  (A  long  pause.  Finally)  I  could 
n't  go  into  partnership  with  Gresham. 

V±  rctinptly) 
Why  not? 


38  CONFESSIONS 

EAU     IN 
People  wouldn't  t  n  .    iiim. 

JOHN 

Then  you  rould  go  into  business  with  someone  else, 
dad.  A  hundred  thousand  is  a  lot  of  money. 

BALDWIN 

(Walks  to  the  window.  Looks  out) 
God  knows  I  never  thought  this  day  would  come! 
I  know — I  know  no  matter  how  you  try  to  excuse  it — 
I  know  that  if  I  take  this  money  I  do  a  dishonorable 
thing.  And  you  know  it!  You,  and  you,  and  you! 
All  of  you !  Come,  admit  it ! 

JOHN 

(Resolutely) 
Nobody '11  ever  hear  of  it. 

BALDWIN 

But  amongst  ourselves,  John !  Whatever  we  are  to 
the  world,  let  us  be  honest  with  each  other,  the  four 
of  us!  Well  ?  (His  glance  travels  from  JOHN  to  EVIE, 
whose  head  is  bowed;  from  her  to  his  wlje,  who  is 
apparently  busied  with  her  knitting.  He  raises  MAR 
THA'S  head:  looks  into  the  eyes.  He  shudders.) 
Shams !  Liars !  Hypocrites !  Thieves !  And  I  no  bet 
ter  than  any  of  you!  We  have  seen  our  souls  naked, 
and  they  stink  to  Almighty  Heaven !  Well,  why  don't 
you  answer  me? 


CONFESSIONAL  39 

MARTHA 
(Feebly) 
It's  not  wrong,  Robert. 

BALDWIN 
It's  not  right. 

JOHN 

(Facing  him  steadily) 
A  hundred  thousand  is  a  lot  of  money,  dad. 

BALDWIN 
(Nodding  slowly) 
You  can  look  into  my  eyes  now,  my  son,  can't  you? 

JOHN 

(Without  moving) 

Dad:  why  did  you  refuse?    Wasn't  it  because  you 
were  afraid  of  what  we'd  say? 

BALDWIN 

(After  a  long  pause) 
Yes,  John. 

JOHN 
Well,  nobody  will  ever  know  it. 

BALDWIN 
Except  the  four  of  us. 


40  CONFESSIONAL 

JOHN 
Yes — father. 

(Abruptly  they  separate.  EviE  weeps  in 
silence.  MARTHA,  being  less  emotional,  blows 
her  nose  noisily,  and  fumbles  with  her  knit 
ting.  JOHN,  having  nothing  better  to  do, 
scowls  out  of  the  window,  and  BALDWIN, 
near  the  fireplace,  clenches  and  unclenches  his 
hands. ) 

JOHN 

Someone's  coming. 

MARTHA 

(Raising  her  head) 
Who  is  it? 

JOHN 

I  can't  see.     (With  sudden  apprehension.)     It  looks 
like  Marshall. 

BALDWIN 
Marshall? 

(The  door-bell  rings.  They  are  motionless 
as  a  MAID  enters  at  one  side  and  goes  out  the 
other.  The  MAID  re-enters.) 

THE  MAID 
A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir. 


CONFESSIONAL  41 

BALDWIN 

(Pulling  himself  together) 
Who,  me? 

THE  MAID 

Yes,  sir. 

(She  hands  him  a  card  on  a  salver.) 

BALDWIN 
It  is  Marshall. 

MARTHA 
The  President  of  the  Third  National? 

BALDWIN 
Yes.    What  does  he  want  here  ? 

THE  MAID 

Shall  I  show  him  in,  sir? 

BALDWIN 
Yes.     Yes.     By  all  means. 

(The  MAID  goes  out.) 

MARTHA 

(Crossing  to  him  quickly) 

Robert !    Be  careful  of  what  you  say :  you're  to  go  on 
the  stand  to-morrow. 


42  CONFESSIONAL 

BALDWIN 
(Nervously) 
Yes,  yes.    I'll  look  out. 

(The  MAID  re-enters,  opening  the  door  for 
MARSH  ALL'.) 

MARSHALL 

(Coming  into  the  room  very  buoyantly) 
Well,  well,  spending  the  afternoon  indoors?     How 
are  you,  Mrs.  Baldwin?     (He  shakes  hands  cordially.) 
And  you,  Baldwin  ? 

MARTHA 
We  were  just  going  out.    Come,  Evie. 

MARSHALL 

Oh,  you  needn't  go  on  my  account.  You  can  hear 
what  I  have  to  say.  (He  turns  to  the  head  of  the 
family.)  Baldwin,  if  you  feel  like  coming  around  to 
the  Third  National  some  time  this  week,  you'll  find  a 
position  waiting  for  you. 

BALDWIN 
(Thunderstruck) 
Do  you  mean  that,  Mr.  Marshall  ? 

MARSHALL 
(Smiling) 

I  wouldn't  say  it  if  I  didn't.  (He  continues  more 
seriously.)  I  was  in  to  see  Gresham  this  afternoon. 


CONFESSIONAL  43 

He  told  me  about  the  offer  he  had  made  you.  But  he 
knew  that  no  amount  of  money  would  make  you  do 
something  you  thought  wrong.  Baldwin,  he  paid  you 
the  supreme  compliment:  rather  than  go  to  trial  with 
you  to  testify  against  him,  he  confessed. 

BALDWIN 

(Sinking  into  a  chair) 
Confessed !        J 

MARSHALL 

Told  the  whole  story.  (He  turns  to  MARTHA.)  I 
can  only  say  to  you  what  every  man  will  be  saying 
to-morrow:  how  highly  I  honor  and  respect  your  hus 
band  !  How  sincerely 

MARTHA 

(Seizing  his  hand  piteously) 
Please !    Please !    Can't  you  see  he's  crying  ? 

THE   CURTAIN    FALLS   SLOWLY 

\ 


THE  VILLAIN   IN  THE  PIECE 

AN  UNROMANTIC  COMEDY 


CHARACTERS 

BLANCHE. 

RALPH. 

BELDEN. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

r  j  rO  call  her  pretty,  and  say  no  more,  would  be 

I  an  insult.  She  is  young,  twenty  or  twenty- 
one,  and  the  determined  chin,  the  challenging 
eyes,  the  resolute  mouth,  bespeak  character  first — beauty 
afterwards.  One  inight  describe  the  face  by  saying  that 
it  is  beautiful  as  a  matter  of  course — because  there  is 
so  much  else  to  it,  because  intelligence,  comprehension, 
sympathy,  beautify  the  features  in  which  they  reside. 

Aristocrat?  Not  in  the  sense  that  the  word  was  once 
used.  She  is  the  healthy,  high-class  American  girl,  who 
cares  less  for  her  ancestors  than  for  her  descendants.  She 
will  cheer  herself  hoarse  at  a  football  game  in  the  after 
noon,  and  forget  the  world  and  all  else  in  the  magic 
of  a  symphony  in  the  evening — because  she  thinks  she 
understands  both — and  understands  neither — and  en 
joys  life  excellently  well  anyhow. 

The  captiously  inclined  will  lay  weight  upon  her 
frivolities,  for,  being  a  healthy  animal,  she  must  have 
her  play.  The  over-educated,  for  whose  opinion  no 
one  cares,  will  say  she  is  superficial — which  is  per 
fectly  true.  And  the  superficial,  whose  opinion  every 
one  repeats,  will  say  that  she  is  exceedingly  good  com 
pany — which  is  quite  as  true.  But  that  is  as  it 
should  be. 

She  has  intimate  friends,  whom  she  changes  with 
47 


48         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

commendable  regularity,  and  she  has  enemies,  whom  she 
hates  whole-heartedly  and  with  abiding  satisfaction. 
And  she  is  human ,  very,  very  human. 

As  the  curtain  rises  she  is  sitting  on  a  sofa  in  a 
pleasant  corner  just  outside  of  the  ballroom  in  which 
eighty  or  a  hundred  couples  are  conscientiously 
threading  the  mazes  of  the  latest  modern  dance. 
Through  the  open  doorway  come  attenuated  strains  of 
music — and  the  rustle  of  silk — and  the  shuffle  of  danc 
ing  slippers — and  the  eddying  hum  of  chatter.  But  she 
is  listening  to  none  of  these.  She  is  listening  to  the 
very  earnest  young  man  beside  her.  And  she  feels 
something  of  pity — and  something  of  resentment — and 
more  than  something  of  understanding.  For  RALPH 
is  certainly  not  an  unattractive  fellow,  and  when  he 
speaks  of  love,  as  he  has  been  doing  for  the  last  few 
minutes,  his  voice  has  gentle  inflections  and  subtle 
catches  which  are  decidedly  pleasing — not  least  to  the 
girl  who  is  the  object  of  his  affection.  He  has  just 
asked  her  a  question — the  question — and  she  pauses  be 
fore  replying.  He  whispers: 

RALPH 
Well,  Blanche? 

BLANCHE 
(Shaking  her  head) 
Ralph,  it's  too  late. 

RALPH 
But 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          49 

BLANCHE 

I  didn't  intend  to  tell  you  so  soon:  I'm  engaged  to 
him. 

RALPH 
Engaged  ? 

BLANCHE 

(Looking  away) 
For  the  last  month. 

RALPH 

Oh,  I  thought  so!  I  suspected  it!  I  knew  that 
would  happen! 

* 

BLANCHE 

Why,  Ralph! 

RALPH 
(Bitterly) 

I  never  had  a  chance.  I  should  have  known  it  from 
the  start!  When  you  had  to  choose  between  us,  be 
tween  me  and  my  employer,  between  the  little  I 
offered  you  and  a  town  house  and  a  country  house 
and 

BLANCHE 

(Interrupting  indignantly) 
Ralph !    How  dare  you ! 


50         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

RALPH 

Oh,  I  know  you  don't  think  of  money,  but  it  makes 
a  difference.  It's  got  to  make  a  difference. 

BLANCHE 
It  makes  no  difference  here,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

No?  We're  pretty  good  friends,  aren't  we?  Can 
you  look  at  me  and  tell  me 

BLANCHE 
(Interrupting) 

That  I  would  marry  him  if  he  didn't  have  a  cent? 
Yes.  You  don't  know  the  man,  Ralph.  You  don't 
give  him  credit  for  what  he  has. 

RALPH 

After  I've  worked  for  him  for  four  years?  I  give 
him  credit,  never  fear!  Two  millions — or  perhaps 
three 

BLANCHE 

That  was  not  what  I  meant — you  know  that.  He 
is  an  exceptional  man — a  big  man — a  just  man 

RALPH 

Who  will  treat  you  more  as  his  daughter  than  his 
wife.  He's  old  enough,  isn't  he  ? 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          51 

BLANCHE 
That's  not  fair,  Ralph.     He's  thirty-seven. 

RALPH 

Ten  years  older  than  I.  Blanche,  Blanche,  won't 
you  listen  to  me?  (She  sighs.  He  seizes  the  oppor 
tunity.)  Don't  you  remember?  Two  years  ago? 

BLANCHE 
Of  course  I  remember,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

That  was  before  you  had  met  Belden.  You  said  you 
would  marry  me. 

BLANCHE 
I  meant  it  then. 

RALPH 

So — so  things  have  changed? 

BLANCHE 
(Slowly) 
Yes,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

I  suppose  I  was  a  fool.  I  wasn't  making  much: 
still  less  than  I  am  making  now,  and  I  didn't  see  how 
I  could  marry  you  and  keep  my  self-respect. 


52         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

BLANCHE 
I  would  have  been  willing. 

RALPH 

I  knew  that:  you  said  so  then.  But  I  didn't  dare. 
I  didn't  feel  it  was  the  right  thing  by  you.  I  felt  the 
only  fair  thing  to  do  was  to  release  you  from  your 
engagement. 

BLANCHE 
I  didn't  ask  you  to  do  it,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

No.  (He  pauses.)  Blanche,  can't  we  go  back? 
Back  to  where  we  left  off? 

BLANCHE 
After  I  am  engaged  to  marry  another  man? 

RALPH 
Whom  you  don't  love. 

BLANCHE 

Whom  I  do  love.  .  .  .  Ralph,  even  if  it  hurts  you, 
make  up  your  mind  that  I  love  him,  the  man  he  is,  even 
more  than  I  ever  loved  you.  (She  pauses.)  Be  a  good 
loser,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

The  flowers,  the  automobiles,  the  opera — they  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  ?  You  know,  when  we  went  out 
together,  you  and  I,  we  rode  in  the  street  cars. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          53 

BLANCHE 
I  enjoyed  myself  just  as  much,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

I  wonder!    If  I  had  had  money!    If  I  had  been  able 
to  offer  you  what  he  offers  you 

BLANCHE 
You  would  have  married  me  two  years  ago. 

RALPH 
Yes:  and  you  would  marry  me  to-day. 

(The  tall,  powerful  figure  of  GEOFFREY 
BELDEN  has  appeared  in  the  doorway.  Mas 
terful,  self-contained,  but  giving  the  impres 
sion  of  immense  reserve  force,  he  enters  as 
if  he  were  looking  for  a  quiet  place  to  idle 
away  a  few  minutes.  A  self-made  man,  if 
ever  there  was  one,  with  the  confidence,  the 
absolute  assurance  that  comes  with  success 
written  large  over  his  features.  RALPH'S 
voice  catches  his  ear.  He  turns  toward  him. 
Then,  as  he  gathers  the  drift  of  his  words, 
he  becomes  motionless  and  listens — listens 
shamelessly. 

His    entrance    has    been    unobserved:    the 
others  are   intent  in   their   conversation.) 

RALPH 

Oh,  I  know  how  fair  and  square  you  are.     I  know 
how  little  you  care  about  such  things.    But  somewhere, 


54          THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

somewhere  in  the  depths  of  your  soul  something  is 
saying  to  you,  "  I  am  marrying  a  millionaire!  He  is 
Ralph's  employer.  He  can  buy  out  Ralph  a  dozen 
times,  a  hundred  times,  and  never  feel  it.  I  am  doing 
well  for  myself !  " 

BLANCHE 
(Indignantly) 
If  you  think  that 

RALPH 

(Interrupting) 

I  know  that's  not  why  you  accepted  him,  but  it 
counted — it  had  to  count.  When  you  spent  an  even 
ing  with  him  you  enjoyed  it,  but  you  didn't  stop  to 
figure  out  how  much  of  that  enjoyment  came  from  the 
things  his  money  gave  you.  You  left  the  house  in  the 
automobile  his  money  placed  at  your  service.  You 
enjoyed  the  play,  because  his  money  bought  the  best 
seats  in  the  theater.  You  had  a  little  dinner  afterwards, 
in  the  most  expensive  restaurant  he  could  find.  You 
had  a  perfect  evening.  When  you  thanked  him  for  it, 
you  meant  it.  But  you  didn't  say  to  yourself  "  His 
money  has  given  me  nine-tenths  of  it — and  I  enjoyed 
his  company — of  course"  You  didn't  stop  to  think 
that  you  would  have  enjoyed  such  an  evening  with 
any  man. 

BLANCHE 
(Rather  sharply) 
Ralph,  why  do  you  say  this  to  me? 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          55 

RALPH 
Why  not? 

BLANCHE 

It's  silly.  (He  tries  to  interrupt.  She  will  not 
allow  it.)  I  am  not  a  child.  I  know  why  I'm  marry 
ing  him — you  don't.  (He  laughs  derisively.)  You're 
making  a  fool  of  yourself,  Ralph ! 

RALPH 

(Bitterly) 
What  does  it  matter? 

BLANCHE 

(Rising  angrily) 

A  woman  can't  even  respect  a  man  who  does  that! 
(She  sweeps  out  of  the  room  magnificently. 
RALPH  hesitates;  then  starts  to  follow  her. 
BELDEN'S  powerful  figure  abruptly  inter 
poses  itself.) 

RALPH 

(Starting  violently) 
You! 

BELDEN 

(Nodding  calmly) 
Quite  so. 

RALPH 

You've  been  listening? 


56         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

BELDEN 
I  beg  your  pardon  ? 

RALPH 

Oh,  don't  beat  around  the  bush!     You've  been  lis 
tening  at  the  door  ? 

BELDEN 
(Pleasantly) 
Eavesdropping  ?    Yes. 

RALPH 
How  long  ? 

BELDEN 

Quite  a  while.    Long  enough  to  get  the  gist  of  what 
you  were  saying. 

RALPH 
And  you,  you  are  the  man  she  wants  to  marry! 

BELDEN 
I  hope  so. 

RALPH 
A  man  who  doesn't  scruple  to  listen  at  keyholes 

BELDEN 

(Indicating  the  doorway) 
There  isn't  any. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          57 

RALPH 

You  know  what  I  mean.  A  man  who  spies  on  his 
fiancee !  What  a  rotten  thing  to  do ! 

BELDEN 
Contemptible,  isn't  it? 

RALPH 

Ha!     You  admit  it! 

BELDEN 

Admit  it?  Why  not?  (He  laughs.)  Look  here: 
I'm  engaged  to  a  girl.  I  intend  to  marry  her.  I  leave 
her  alone  a  few  minutes.  I  come  back  to  find  one  of 
my  clerks  making  love  to  her:  trying  to  induce  her  to 
marry  him.  What  do  you  expect  me  to  do?  Wait 
politely  till  he's  finished?  Not  listen?  Or  act  as  if  I 
had  heard  nothing?  Good  Lord,  man,  I've  got  red 
blood  in  my  veins!  I  love  the  girl.  Have  it  your  own 
way.  Say  it's  wrong  to  listen.  But  I'm  going  to 
listen  anyhow! 

RALPH 

( Contemptuously ) 
You  don't  trust  her  even  now. 

BELDEN 

Trust  her?  I  should  say  not!  You  trusted  her  and 
she  got  engaged  to  me.  A  man  who  has  so  little  inter- 


58          THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

est  in  a  girl  that  he  trusts  her  doesn't  deserve  to  marry 
her.    Have  you  ever  looked  at  it  in  that  light? 

RALPH 
I  should  hope  not. 

BELDEN 

Of  course  not,  or  she'd  have  been  married  to  you  by 
now.  (He  seats  himself  amicably.)  Come,  let's  have 
it  out.  Forget  that  I'm  paying  you  a  salary.  This  is 
man  to  man.  She  hasn't  done  you  any  injustice:  / 
have. 

RALPH 
What  do  you  mean? 

BELDEN 

7  cut  you  out,  didn't  I?  (He  settles  himself  com 
fortably.)  You  love  her?  Don't  be  afraid  to  speak 
out  before  me. 

RALPH 

(Mastering  himself  with  an  effort) 
Yes,  sir.     I — I  love  her. 

BELDEN 

Flattering  to  my  taste.  Thank  you.  And  as  for 
the  other  side  of  it,  does  she  love  you? 

(RALPH  hesitates.) 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          59 

BELDEX 
This  is  no  time  for  modesty.     She  loves  you  ? 

RALPH 
I  think  so. 

BELDEN 
You  are  sure  of  it! 

RALPH 
(Resolutely) 
I  am  sure  of  it ! 

BELDEN 
Well,  well! 

RALPH 

She  was  willing  to  marry  me  two  years  ago,  and 

then 

(He  hesitates  again.) 

BELDEN 
Well,  what  is  it? 

RALPH 

I  don't  think  she  cares  for  you  any  more  than  she 
did  for  me.    It's  just  the  way  you  did  it. 

BELDEN 
My  business  methods? 


60         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

RALPH 
Exactly. 

BELDEN 
By  virtue  of  which  I  am  engaged  to  her  now. 

RALPH 
Unfortunately. 

BELDEN 

Yes.  (He  pauses.)  The  decent  thing  to  do  would 
be  to  release  her.  What  do  you  think? 

RALPH 
(Eagerly) 
You  would  do  that? 

BELDEN 

(Thoughtfully.) 

It  would  be  the  proper  thing.  And  then,  I  am  a 
rich  man.  You  are  not.  You  feel  it  is  the  money  that 
makes  the  difference. 

RALPH 
She  is  not  marrying  you  for  your  money,  sir. 

BELDEN 

(Nodding  gravely) 

I  am  glad  to  know  it.  But  the  question  of  money  is 
simple.  I  have  more  than  I  know  what  to  do  with. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          61 

What  would  you  say  if,  for  instance,  I  were  to  hand 
you  a  hundred  thousand 

RALPH 
(Dazed) 
A  hundred  thousand? 

BELDEN 

Or  twice  as  much.  Merely  as  a  loan,  you  know. 
If  I  were  to  say,  "  Young  man,  take  this  money.  Go 
into  business  with  it.  Be  successful.  I  will  help  you 
to  be  successful.  And  at  the  end  of  six  months,  come 
back  and  let  her  choose  between  us." 

RALPH 
Mr.  Belden! 

BELDEN 

Eliminate  the  money  question.  Put  ourselves  on 
a  more  equal  basis. 

RALPH 

What  a  generous  thing  to  do !  What  a  magnificent 
thing! 

BELDEN 
(Thoughtfully) 
Isn't  it? 


62          THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

RALPH 

I  will  make  a  success!  I  know  I  will  make  a  suc 
cess!  I  can't  help  it!  And  at  the  end  of  six  months 
I  will  come  back  and  she  will  choose — choose  between 
you  and  me ! 

BELDEN 

Sounds  well,  doesn't  it?  But  what  makes  you 
think  you'll  be  successful? 

RALPH 

(Enthusiastically) 
With  her  to  work  for? 

BELDEN 

You've  had  her  to  work  for  for  the  last  four  years, 
haven't  you?  And  I've  raised  you  just  once.  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  fire  you  twice. 

RALPH 
Mr.  Belden! 

BELDEN 

You  don't  imagine  that  you're  worth  what  I'm 
paying  you  to-day,  do  you?  (He  pauses.)  Come  back 
to  the  subject.  It  would  be  taking  a  risk,  wouldn't  it? 

RALPH 
A  wonderful  risk! 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          63 

BELDEN 
(Doubtfully) 

Wonderful  ?    No.    Just  a  risk.    If  you  fail,  I  lose  my 
money.     If  you  succeed,  she  might  not  choose  me. 

RALPH 
But  a  risk  with  your  eyes  open ! 

BELDEN 

(Nodding  emphatically) 
That  is  the  kind  of  a  risk  I  never  take.    It's  a  pity. 

RALPH 

(Not  understanding) 
A  pity? 

BELDEN 
A  great  pity. 

RALPH 

I  don't  follow  you. 

BELDEN 
That  I'm  not  going  to  do  it. 

RALPH 

(Thunderstruck) 
Not  going  to  do  it? 


64          THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

BELDEN 

It  would  be  taking  a  chance.  I  never  take  a  chance 
when  I  can  help  it.  (He  glances  curiously  at  RALPH.) 
You  didn't  think  I  was  serious,  did  you? 

RALPH 
(Words  failing  him) 

Serious  ?     Serious ! 
t 

BELDEN 
(Mildly) 

I  read  something  like  it  in  a  book — that  was  all.  I 
was  just  thinking  it  would  have  been  a  heroic  thing  to 
do.  It  would  have  been  generous — as  you  said,  mag 
nificent. 

RALPH 
You're  not  going  to  do  it? 

BELDEN 

Not  while  I  am  sane.  I  tell  you,  though,  I'd  like 
to  see  someone  else  do  it ! 

RALPH 
(Furiously) 
What  are  you  going  to  do? 

BELDEN 
(Mildly) 

I?  I'm  not  cut  out  for  a  hero.  I'm  going  to  play 
safe:  marry  her  just  as  soon  as  she'll  let  me. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          65 

RALPH 
And  take  advantage  of  your  position? 

BELDEN 
(Nodding) 
Every  inch  of  it. 

RALPH 
I  thought 

BELDEN 
(Interrupting) 
Yes,  I  know  you  did. 

RALPH 

And  instead 

BELDEN 

(Again  interrupting) 
You  find  that  I'm  just  an  ordinary  business  man? 

RALPH 

You  go  about  this 

BELDEN 

(Continuing  to  interrupt) 

As  I  go  about  business?  Yes.  You  see,  I  know 
what  you  want  to  say.  When  I  want  something,  I  get 
it — if  it  is  to  be  gotten — by  the  surest  means  I  know. 


66         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

RALPH 

And  you  go  after  a  wife  exactly  as  you  go  after 
an  extra  million  ? 

BELDEN 
Exactly?     No.     Ten  times  as  hard. 

RALPH 
Ah!    If  she  knew  that! 

BELDEN 

Don't  mistake  me !  The  extra  million  doesn't  mean 
much,  still  I  work  pretty  hard  to  get  it.  The  wife 
means  a  great  deal — so  much  that  it  almost  frightens 
me  to  think  about  it.  And  you  want  me  to  worry 
about  fairness?  Or  politeness?  Or  about  giving  the 
other  fellow  an  equal  chance?  Not  if  I  am  sure  that 
the  girl  is  the  right  girl!  (He  leans  forward  confi 
dentially.)  You  see,  if  I  don't  make  the  extra  million 
there  are  plenty  more  where  it  came  from:  every  dol 
lar's  just  like  every  other  dollar.  But  if  I  don't  get  the 

girl !     Well,  the  man  behind  the  counter  would 

say,  "  We  happen  to  be  out  of  this  particular  number." 
And  I  don't  want  anything  else!  I'm  a  devilish  hard 
customer  to  satisfy.  You  see?  (He  smiles  reminis- 
cently.)  When  I  was  a  boy  they  fed  me  on  hero 
stories:  my  father  said  it  would  be  good  for  my  char 
acter.  They  didn't  have  to  ram  them  down  my  throat 
either.  I  just  devoured  them!  George  Washington, 
Bayard,  Joan  of  Arc,  why,  I  could  have  told  you  the 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE         67 

maiden  names  of  their  maternal  grandmothers,  that's 
how  well  I  knew  them!  And  G.  A.  Henty — and 
Oliver  Optic — and  Frank  Castlemon — and  Horatio 
Alger?  I  can  tell  you  half  of  their  plots  to-day!  I've 
got  some  of  those  books  yet,  and  I  take  them  down  once 
in  a  while,  read  them,  just  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure 
they  used  to  give  me  when  I  was  a  boy!  You  never 
read  them,  did  you? 

RALPH 
(Stiffly) 
I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  the  case. 

BELDEN 

No:  you  wouldn't.  But  I  see.  (He  pauses.)  I  al 
ways  admired  the  hero.  He  was  so  good — so  truth 
ful — so  manly!  When  his  worst  enemy  got  into  a 
scrape,  he  would  say  "  I  did  it."  That  was  the  hero's 
business  in  life,  saying  "  I  did  it."  When  his  brother 
forged  a  will,  or  somebody  ran  off  with  the  bank's 
money,  there  was  the  hero:  "  I  did  it."  But  you  knew 
he  didn't.  And  you  knew  he'd  be  set  right  in  the  end ! 
There  had  to  be  a  happy  ending:  I  knew  that  by  the 
time  I  was  twelve.  So  I  was  thrilled  when  he  was 
shipwrecked — or  marooned — or  sentenced  to  be  shot — 
because  I  knew  he'd  come  out  right  side  up!  Why,  I 
wallowed  in  it!  And  when  some  other  fellow  wanted 
his  girl — do  you  follow  me? — did  he  say  "  Don't  bother 
me!  "?  No\  That  wasn't  heroic.  He  said,  "  Let  the 
best  man  win !  "  and  he  was  perfectly  safe  in  saying 


68         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

it  because  the  cards  were  stacked — and  he  knew  it !  Be 
cause  he  was  the  best  man,  and  he  had  to  win,  or  there'd 
have  been  no  story !  He  took  a  chance — which  wasn't 
any  chance  at  all — just  to  thrill  the  reader,  because  he 
was  nothing  but  a  character  in  a  book,  and  had  an 
author  looking  out  for  him  anyway!  (He  stops  and 
looks  keenly  into  RALPH'S  eyes.)  Do  you  under 
stand?  When  it  comes  to  real  life,  when  it  is  a  ques 
tion  of  yours  truly,  Geoffrey  Belden,  he  doesn't  take 
a  chance !  It's  a  real  chance,  and  he  doesn't  want  to  be 
thrilled!  It's  just  possible  there  mightn't  be  a  happy 
ending!  The  hero  in  the  book  had  his  author  to 
depend  upon :  Geoffrey  Belden  has  to  look  out  for  him 
self!  (He  bows  elaborately.)  I'm  the  villain  in  the 
piece ! 

RALPH 
I  know  that  already. 

BELDEN 

(Carefully  lighting  a  cigarette) 
I've  been  something  of  a  hard  worker  in  my  day, 
and  one  result  of  it  is  that  I  can  do  things  to-day  I 
couldn't  do  before.  I  can  be  unfair  when  it  is  to  my 
interest  to  be  unfair.  People  were  damn  unfair  to  me 
when  I  was  a  young  fellow. 

BLANCHE 
(Enters  the  room,  wearing  a  cloak  over  her  evening 

gown) 
I've  been  hunting  for  you  everywhere,  Geoffrey. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          69 

BELDEN 

You  come  in  good  time.  (He  faces  RALPH.)  I 
want  something  now.  I  want  it  badly.  So  I  warn  you 
to  do  the  decent  thing. 

RALPH 

Warn? 

BELDEN 
That  was  the  word. 

RALPH 
When  you  don't  do  the  decent  thing  yourself? 

BELDEN 

(With  an  explanatory  smile} 

I'm  the  villain.  I  warn  you  to  give  in  with  good 
grace:  to  congratulate  me  on  my  engagement. 

RALPH 

(Laughing  contemptuously) 
Congratulate  you!    Just  watch  me! 

BELDEN 
It's  gentlemanly:  you  seem  keen  on  that. 

RALPH 
Are  you  joking? 


70         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

BELDEN 
(Shrugs  his  shoulders  hopelessly:   his  whole  attitude 

changes) 
I  never  joke  with  my  employes. 

RALPH 
(Flushing) 
Mr.  Belden! 

BELDEN 

Rotten  thing  to  say,  isn't  it?  But  doesn't  it  strike 
you  that  you're  a  good  deal  of  a  cad  yourself  ? 

RALPH 

What  do  you  mean?  This  isn't  your  office,  you 
know. 

BELDEN 
(Nodding) 

That's  just  the  point.  You  wouldn't  act  like  this 
with  another  man,  but  I'm  your  employer,  and  eti 
quette  says  I  mustn't  discharge  you. 

RALPH 
It  would  be  contemptible. 

BELDEN 

That's  why  I'm  going  to  do  it.  It  takes  a  brave 
man  to  do  a  contemptible  thing. 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE          71 

RALPH 
Discharge  me?    You  daren't! 

BELDEN 

No?     It's  wrong.     It's  outrageous.     It's  despicable. 
But  I  warned  you  I  was  the  villain. 

RALPH 

And  you  mean  to ?     (He  turns  passionately  to 

BLANCHE.)  And  you,  yo\i  listen  to  all  of  this,  and 
say  nothing?  Can't  I  say  to  him,  "  Keep  your  money! 
We  have  each  other!  "  ? 

(He  seizes  her  hand.) 

BLANCHE 

(Withdrawing  her  hand) 
I'm  afraid  you  can't,  Ralph. 

RALPH 

You  stand  here,  see  him  crush  me 

BLANCHE 

And  admire  him  for  having  the  courage  to  do  a 
cowardly  thing! 

RALPH 

(Wild  with  fury) 

He  offered  me — do  you  know  what  he  offered?    He 
was  to  give  me  money — set  me  up  in  business — and  in 


72         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

six  months — when  I  would  be  a  success — you  were  to 
choose  between  us! 

BLANCHE 
You  did  that,  Geoffrey? 

RALPH 

(Giving  him  no  chance  to  answer) 

No,  he  didn't !  He  was  leading  me  on,  that  was  all ! 
Joking!  Just  joking! 

BLANCHE 

But  you — you  would  have  been  willing  to  wait  six 
months  ? 

RALPH 
Willing?    Delighted! 

BLANCHE 
You  would  have  come  to  me 

RALPH 
And  let  you  choose  between  us! 

BLANCHE 

Yes.  But  I  have  made  that  choice.  Don't  you 
think  I  know  my  mind  now?  How  many  seconds  did 
you  think  it  took  me  to  find  out  which  was  the  finer 
man:  you  or  Geoffrey?  If  he  had  been  serious  in  his 
offer,  do  you  know  what  I  would  have  said  ?  I  would 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE         73 

have  said,  "  You  feel  there  is  truth  in  what  he  says:  that 
your  money  attracts  me.  So  you  propose  to  make  him  a 
rich  man  also.  What  a  monstrous  insult  to  me !  " 

RALPH 
Insult  ? 

BLANCHE 

The  man  who  marries  me  will  want  me  so  badly 
that  six  days  will  be  too  long  to  wait  for  my  answer! 
He  won't  ask  whether  I  marry  him  for  his  money  or 
his  position :  he  \von't  care  why  I  marry  him :  so  long 
as  I  marry  him! 

RALPH 

But  it  would  have  been  a  fine  thing  to  do !  It  would 
have  been  a  magnificent  thing  to  do!  It  would  have 
been  a  gentlemanly  thing  to  do! 

BLANCHE 

For  someone  else,  perhaps:  not  for  me!  Fine? 
Magnificent?  Gentlemanly?  I  don't  want  to  be 
loved — gently.  I  don't  want  to  be  won — fairly!  I 
don't  want  to  think  that  my  husband  cared  for  me  so 
little  that  he  gave  all  the  others  an  equal  chance !  That 
he  won  me,  perhaps,  only  because  someone  else  was 
still  more  polite!  (She  shakes  her  head.)  I  would 
have  said,  "  Gentlemen,  in  six  months  you  will  have 
concluded  a  very  entertaining  experiment.  But  don't 
come  around  to  see  me  when  it's  over.  Fm  not  in 
terested!" 


74         THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE 

BELDEN 
(Moved} 
Thank  you — thank  you,  Blanche. 

RALPH 

(Dazed — gasping  ) 

And  you — you  have  the  reputation  of  being  a  just 
man! 

BELDEN 
(Nodding) 

I  cultivate  it.     (He  smiles  kindly.)     Don't  you  see, 
you  re  not  going  to  tell  people  what  a  rotter  I  am. 

RALPH 

Not  tell  them  ?    That's  just  what  I'm  going  to  do ! 

BELDEN 
And  make  a  fool  of  yourself? 

BLANCHE 

(Taking  BELDEN'S  arm) 

Don't  worry,  Geoffrey.  He  has  done  that  already. 
(She  turns  to  RALPH  with  an  imperious 
gesture  of  dismissal.  He  hesitates.  She 
smiles,  then  breaks  into  a  laugh,  a  mocking, 
merciless  laugh.  He  flushes,  turns  slowly, 
leaves  the  room.  There  is  a  pause.  Then:) 


THE  VILLAIN  IN  THE  PIECE         75 

BLANCHE 
Are  you  really  going  to  discharge  him  ? 

BELDEN 
(Smiling) 
What  do  you  say,  dear? 

BLANCHE 
( Thinks  an  instant.     Then  a  steely  glint  comes  into  her 

eyes,  and  she  nods) 

A  man  with  so  much  sentiment  would  never  be  a 
success  in  business  anyhow.     Come,  Geoffrey. 

( They  go.  The  droning  of  the  orchestra 
continues — and  the  murmur  of  conversa 
tion — and  the  shuffle  of  dancing  slip 
pers.  .  .  .) 


THE    CURTAIN    FALLS 


ACCORDING  TO   DARWIN 
A  PLAY  IN  TWO  SCENES 


FOREWORD 

THE  author  sincerely  trusts  that  no  reader  will 
construe  any  part  of  what  follows  in  the  light  of  an 
attack  upon  one  of  the  greatest  boons  of  modern  civiliza 
tion — organized  charity. 

But  if  the  reader  has  occasionally  reflected  that  no 
force  is  more  capable  of  doing  damage  than  that  power 
of  affecting  the  course  of  human  life  which  is  some 
times  placed  in  the  hands  of  inexpert  administrators, 
then  the  author  will  exclaim  with  him,  "Charity! 
What  sins  are  committed  in  thy  name !  " 


CHARACTERS 

BETTY. 

TOM. 

WILLIE. 

A  CHARITY  WORKER. 

A  SHERIFF. 


THE  FIRST   SCENE 


THE  SCENE 

Is  laid  at  BETTY'S,  in  a  cheap  tenement,  in  the  slums 
of  New  York. 

THE  TIME 

An  evening  in  Summer. 


ACCORDING  TO   DARWIN 

THE  FIRST  SCENE 

/F  rooms  bespeak  character,  this  room,  the  scene 
upon  which  the  curtain  rises,  is  eloquent.  For 
it  tells  the  tale  of  a  struggle  with  poverty — a 
struggle  against  the  most  overwhelming  odds.  There 
is  no  carpet,  but  the  floor  is  tolerably  clean.  The  wall 
paper,  left  by  some  more  prosperous  tenant,  hangs  in 
shreds,  but  the  worst  places  are  concealed  by  gaudily 
colored  pictures.  There  is  a  stove,  and  a  dish  of  some 
thing  is  simmering  on  it.  A  few  rickety  chairs,  no  two 
alike,  are  about  the  room.  And  against  a  wall,  a  non 
descript  arrangement  of  wooden  boxes,  old  rags,  news 
papers,  and  scraps  of  colored  cloth,  might  pass  for  a 
couch.  There  is  a  window:  of  course  there  is  a  win 
dow:  the  tenement  law  requires  it.  But  the  fire- 
escape  outside  is  encumbered  with  drying  laundry,  and 
the  window  is  as  useless  for  ventilation  as  it  is  for 
light. 

A  lifeless  room.  A  cheerless  room.  An  unspeak 
ably  dismal  room.  Yet  it  is  the  show-room  of  the 
"apartment,"  for,  by  the  evidence  of  the  couch,  only  one 
of  the  tenants  can  sleep  here,  and  a  wobbly  door,  from 

S3 


84  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

which  the  varnish  is  peeling  in  long  strips,  leads  into  a 
"  bedroom."  A  bedroom,  indeed,  it  must  be,  though 
we  make  no  careful  investigation.  A  glimpse  through 
the  doorway  reveals  a  decrepit  mattress  and  a  lumpy 
pillow,  and,  once  again,  the  inspectors  would  be  pleased 
to  observe  a  diminutive  hole  in  the  wall,  opening  on  a 
lightless  shaft:  a  "window." 

As  the  curtain  rises,  BETTY,  a  rather  attractive  girl 
of  nineteen,  is  removing  the  dishes  from  the  table  at 
which  she  and  her  younger  brother  TOM  have  just 
eaten.  The  fairest  flowers  are  said  to  bloom  in  filth, 
and  there  is  a  purity,  a  delicacy  of  outline  about 
BETTY'S  profile,  which  is  curiously  pleasing.  There  are 
hard  lines  about  the  mouth,  and  the  beginning  of  a 
nasty  contraction  at  the  side  of  the  eyelids,  but  these 
are  not  pleasing.  One  had  better  not  look  at  them. 
Misery,  and  hopelessness:  of  course  they  are  in  her  face, 
but  she  is  a  pretty  girl,  if  you  take  but  a  fleeting  glance 
at  her.  Let  it  go  at  that. 

TOM,  the  younger  brother,  who  sells  neivspapers,  and 
does  odd  jobs,  is  a  depressingly  sophisticated  lad  of 
eighteen.  At  this  age  a  boy  is  supposed  to  be  "  full  of 
life  " ;  is  expected  to  be  "  bubbling  over  with  spirits." 
Perhaps  that  is  what  TOM  is  thinking  of  as  he  sits  in 
his  chair  and  stares — stares  through  grime  and 
filth,  and  brick  and  stone,  into  something  far  be 
yond. 

From  some  not  distant  church  a  clock  strikes.  BETTY 
listens: 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  85 

BETTY 
What  time  was  that  ? 

TOM 
Seven. 

BETTY 

Light  the  gasy-Temr^vill  you?  (He  rises,  scratches 
a  match,  and  touches  it  to  a  jet  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  BETTY  takes  a  purse  from  a  place  of  conceal 
ment.)  To-morrow's  the  first  of  the  month,  Tom. 

TOM 
(Slowly) 
Yes. 

BETTY 
I've  got  the  rent  this  time. 

TOM 
Yes? 

BETTY 

(Counting  out  the  money) 

There.  And  almost  a  dollar  over.  Just  think  what 
that  means!  You're  making  almost  four  dollars  a 
week,  and  I  made  over  eleven  last  week ! 

TOM 

(In  the  same  slow,  measured  tone) 
Yes. 


86  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

BETTY 

Fifteen  dollars  a  week  between  us!  Tom,  we'll  be 
able  to  put  something  by!  I'm  going  to  open  an  ac 
count  in  a  savings  bank. 

TOM 

(As  before) 
Yes. 

BETTY 

(Putting  her  arms  about  his  shoulders) 
We've  slaved  for  it,  haven't  we?     It  used  to  be 
mighty  hard,  old  fellow. 

TOM 
Yes.    When  Willie  was  with  us. 

BETTY 
(Nodding) 

It  made  such  a  difference.  The  two  of  us,  to  sup 
port  him,  with  all  the  things  he  had  to  have.  The 
medicines — and  the  food 

TOM 
And  one  of  us  had  to  stay  home  part  of  the  day. 

BETTY 
Well,  he  couldn't  do  much  for  himself,  could  he? 

TOM 

It's  hard  to  make  a  living  when  you've  got  only  half 
your  time  to  do  it  in. 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  87 

BETTY 

Tom,  we  oughtn't  complain.  We  had  to  do  it.  If 
you  were  taken  sick,  I'd  look  out  for  you,  wouldn't  I? 
It  would  be  the  least  I  could  do.  (He  shrugs  his 
shoulders.)  Well,  Willie's  our  brother. 

TOM 

What  did  Willie  ever  do  for  us  when  he  was  well  ? 
(BETTY  does  not  answer.)  He  made  more  money  than 
both  of  us  put  together,  but  we  never  saw  any  of  it! 
We  could  go  to  the  dogs  for  all  he  cared! 

BETTY 

(Reproachfully) 
Tom! 

TOM 

( Dispassionately ) 

I'm  not  saying  this  because  I'm  angry.  I'm  simply 
telling  you  what  happened.  Willie  made  the  money, 
and  Willie  spent  the  money.  He  liked  to  amuse  him 
self.  There  was  nothing  to  stop  him.  You  needed 
shoes,  but  Willie  needed  a  drink.  So  Willie  got  the 
drink,  and  you — you  could  have  gone  barefoot  for  all 
the  difference  it  made  to  him. 

BETTY 
Tom,  he  was  punished. 

TOM 

He  punished?  Not  much!  Do  you  call  it  punish 
ment  that  he  fell  off  a  ladder  when  he  was  drunk  ?  No, 


88  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

we  were  punished!  We!  It  wasn't  hard  enough  to 
look  out  for  ourselves:  we  had  to  look  out  for  him 
too  .  .  . 

(He  breaks  off.) 

BETTY 

Tom :  Willie's  a  cripple.  The  doctors  say  he  won't 
live  six  months.  Don't  you  think  you  might  forgive 
him? 

TOM 

Forgiving  him  is  easy.  What's  done  is  done.  But 
that's  not  the  point.  Willie's  coming  home. 

BETTY 

( Thunderstruck) 

Coming  home?  But  I  thought  the  Society  was 
taking  care  of  him. 

TOM 
Yes. 

BETTY 
Then  why ? 

TOM 

I  stopped  in  this  afternoon.  You  know,  they  said 
I  was  to  see  Willie  once  a  week. 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  89 

BETTY 

(Impatiently) 
Well? 

TOM 
They've  cured  him. 

BETTY 
Cured  him  ?    Then  he'll  be  able  to  work ! 

TOM 

(Shaking  his  head  slowly) 
No. 

BETTY 
What  do  you  mean? 

TOM 

It's  very  simple.  He  was  a  cripple.  He  was  going 
to  die  in  six  months.  But  they  were  charitable.  They 
sent  him  to  the  hospital.  They  operated  him. 

BETTY 

(Breathlessly) 
And  what  happened? 

TOM 

The  operation  was  a  success.  (He  pauses.)  He'll 
live,  do  you  understand?  He's  got  as  many  years  in 


90  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

him  as  you  or  I,  but  he's  paralyzed — that's  all:  just 
paralyzed. 

BETTY 
(Slowly) 
Then  he's  no  better. 

TOM 

Oh,  yes!  He's  lots  better!  We  thought  he  was 
going  to  die.  The  doctors  thought  he  was  going  to 
die.  But  they  operated.  It  was  a  wonderful  opera 
tion.  The  lady  in  charge  at  the  Society  told  me  how 
wonderful  it  was :  the  doctors  are  going  to  write  a  book 
about  it.  So — Willie's  not  going  to  die.  He's  coming 
back  here  to  live  with  us. 

BETTY 

(Aghast) 
But  we  can't  take  care  of  him ! 

TOM 
The  hospital  can't.    They've  got  other  sick  people. 

BETTY 
Willie's  sick! 

TOM 

(Shaking  his  head) 
He's  as  well  as  he'll  ever  be.     He  doesn't  need  the 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  91 

hospital.     Only  medicines,  and  good  food,  and  some 
body  to  wheel  him  around,  and  he'll  live  to  be  seventy. 

BETTY 

(Staggering  under  the  succession  of  blows) 
Somebody  to  wheel  him  around  ? 

TOM 

The  ladies  at  the  Society  took  up  a  collection  and 
bought  him  a  wheel  chair.  I  saw  it.  Rubber  tires, 
and  silk  cushions,  and  real  mahogany.  He's  got  to 
be  in  the  fresh  air  for  two  hours  every  day. 


BETTY 
How  will  we  get  him  up  and  down  stairs? 

TOM 
(Does  not  answer.     When  he  speaks  again  it  is  in  the 

same  dead  voice) 

If  it  had  been  a  year  sooner,  they  couldn't  have  saved 
him.  It's  a  new  operation.  The  lady  at  the  Society 
said  we  ought  to  be  very  thankful.  He  might  have 
died  (with  a  sudden  flash  of  anger),  but  they  wouldn't 
let  him! 

BETTY 

But  why  do  they  send  him  here?  Why  doesn't  the 
Society  take  care  of  him?  That's  what  they're  for. 
They  can  take  care  of  him  so  much  better! 


92  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

TOM 
They've  been  taking  care  of  him  for  some  time  now. 

BETTY 
What  of  that? 

TOM 

(Wearily] 

Don't  you  understand  ?  They  don't  believe  in  break 
ing  up  the  family.  (BETTY  does  not  answer.)  Willie 
has  a  home  to  go  to.  (He  waves  his  hand  grimly.) 
This  is  the  home.  So  they're  sending  him  here.  (He 
pauses  again.)  The  lady  at  the  Society  explained  it 
all  to  me.  Too  much  charity  would  make  paupers  out 
of  us,  and  they  don't  want  that,  to  happen.  They've 
done  all  they  think  they  should  for  Willie.  It's  up  to 
us  now. 

BETTY 

(Desperately) 

Tom:  if  Willie  comes  here  you  know  what  it  will 
mean.  We're  just  managing  to  live — we're  just  man 
aging  to  get  along 

TOM 

(Bitterly) 

The  Society  doesn't  want  to  break  up  the  home.  It's 
our  privilege  to  look  out  for  Willie :  "  privilege  " :  that 
was  the  word  she  used.  The  Society  helped  us  over 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  93 

a  hard  place,  but  if  they  helped  us  any  more  it  would 
be  bad  for  us.  They're  afraid  it  would  make  us  less 
independent.  .  .  .  Well,  Willie'll  be  here  any  minute. 

BETTY 

(Taking  his  hands,  almost  weeping} 
Tom!  Tom! 

TOM 

You  know,  we  rich  people — a  few  dollars  more  or 
less  don't  matter.  And  we  can't  pitch  him  out  into 
the  street,  can  we?  He's  our  brother. 

BETTY 
Tom,  what's  to  become  of  us? 

TOM 

Betty :  nobody  cares.  We  don't  matter.  ( There  is 
a  sound  of  voices  outside.)  They're  bringing  him  up. 

( A  rap  at  the  door.     BETTY  opens  it.) 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Enters.     She  is  a  thin,  kind-faced  woman  of  middle 

age,  rather  winded  from  the  steep  ascent) 
Is  this — is  this ? 

TOM 

(Recognizing  her) 
Yes.     This  is  the  place,  Mrs.  Todd. 


94  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(With  a  sigh  of  relief) 
It  wasn't  easy  bringing  him  up  those  stairs. 

(Two  men,  one  in  front,  one  behind,  lift 
WILLIE,  chair  and  all,  over  the  threshold, 
and  wheel  him  into  the  room.  WILLIE  is  a 
large-framed  man  of  twenty-three,  whose 
head  rolls  from  side  to  side  as  the  chair  ?noves. 
The  lower  part  of  his  body  is  snugly  wrapped 
in  a  blanket.) 

BETTY 

(Neither  joy  nor  love  nor  surprise  in  her  voice.    Simply 

recognition  of  a  fact) 
Willie! 

WILLIE 

(Speaking  in  the  uncertain  voice  of  a  paralytic — a  voice 
which  has  been  seriously  affected  by  his  ailment) 
How — how  do  you  do? 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Smoothing  WILLIE'S  hair,  and  putting  on  a  few  finish 
ing  touches  as  if  he  were  an  entry  in  a  dog-show) 
He  looks  well,  doesn't  he?    Splendid  color!    Well, 

I'm  going  to  leave  you  here,  Willie. 

WILLIE 
Y — yes,  Mrs.  Todd. 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  95 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

You'll  have  your  brother  and  sister  to  take  care  of 
you.  You'll  like  that  better  than  the  hospital,  won't 
you? 

WILLIE 
Y— yes,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Turning  enthusiastically  to  TOM) 
It's   wonderful   what    science   can   do    now-a-days! 
When  he  came  to  us — you  know  what  he  was  like. 

TOM 
Yes. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

And  now!  Look  at  him!  Would  anybody  think 
that  the  doctors  actually  gave  him  up?  Tom,  (she 
lays  her  hand  on  his  shoulder)  you  ought  to  be  very 
grateful !  We've  saved  him  for  you !  Saved  him ! 

BETTY 

(Rising  to  the  situation) 
I'm  sure  we're  very  thankful,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Pleased) 

Of  course.  Of  course.  But  the  Society  doesn't  want 
thanks.  We're  just  glad  that  we've  helped  you.  And 
I'm  sure  you'll  take  good  care  of  him. 


96  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

BETTY 
(Slowly) 
Yes. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

Two  hours  of  fresh  air  every  day — your  brother  can 
help  you  carry  him  downstairs — and  milk,  and  plenty  of 
food.  That's  all.  And  his  medicine  three  times  a  day. 
(She  takes  the  botle  from  WILLIE'S  breast  pocket,  and 
shows  it  to  her.)  It's  all  written  on  the  bottle. 

BETTY 

(Taking  the  bottle) 
Yes,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

He  won't  be  much  trouble.  (From  the  chair  comes 
a  gasping  gurgle — WILLIE'S  laugh.)  You  see  how 
cheerful  he  is?  He  has  a  magnificent  constitution, 
haven't  you,  Willie  ? 

WILLIE 
Y— yes,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Drawing  BETTY  aside) 

The  doctors  never  expected  him  to  pull  through: 
they  were  surprised  when  he  came  out  of  the  ether! 
(She  smiles  confidentially.)  You  ought  to  be  proud  of 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  97 

him:  he's  quite  a  celebrity  in  his  way.  (She  turns  back 
to  WILLIE.)  Well,  I  must  be  going,  but  I'm  leaving 
you  in  good  hands.  Good-by,  Willie. 

WILLIE 
G— good-by,  Mrs.  Todd. 

TOM 
(Drawing  the  CHARITY  WORKER  to  one  side  as  she  is 

about  to  leave) 
Mrs.  Todd! 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(With  a  pleasant  smile) 
Yes? 

TOM 

(Almost  desperately) 

Don't  you  think  the  Society  could  take  better  care 
of  him  than  we  could  ? 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Her  smiles  freezing  on  her  lips) 
I've  explained  that  to  you  once. 

TOM 

(Resolutely) 
But  that's  what  the  Society's  for,  isn't  it? 


98  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Standing  on  her  dignity} 

The  ladies  who  founded  the  Society  are  quite  com 
petent  to  manage  it.  (He  is  so  crushed  that  she  con 
tinues  more  kindly.)  Tom,  this  isn't  the  only  case  of 
the  kind  we've  handled.  We've  had  a  hundred  like 
it!  And  we're  doing  for  you  what  our  experience  has 
taught  us  is  best. 

TOM 
But  if  it  doesn't  work? 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Confidently) 

It  will.  (She  radiates  a  liberally  inclusive  smile 
upon  the  reunited  family.)  Good-by.  (She  goes.) 
( There  is  a  pause.  The  others,  who  have 
overheard  nothing  of  the  conversation,  have, 
nevertheless,  maintained  a  respectful  silence. 
Now  WILLIE  turns  to  his  sister.) 

WILLIE 
W — well,  sis!    G — glad  to  see  me? 

BETTY 
Of  course,  Willie. 

WILLIE 

I — I'm  a  triumph  of  surgery.  That — that's  what 
the  doctors  said.  Took  me  all  apart,  and  put  me  to 
gether  again,  and  here  I  am,  alive  and  kicking!  N — 
no,  not  kicking,  but  alive !  You  bet  I'm  alive ! 


ACCORDING  TO- 

BETTY 
Don't  talk  if  it  tires  you,  Willie. 

WILLIE 

N — no.  It  doesn't  tire  me.  I — I  did  a  lot  of  talk 
ing  in  the  hospital.  And  reading!  I  did  a  lot  of  read 
ing.  You — you  see  (he  jerks  his  head  a  little  to  one 
side)  there's  a  thing  on  the  chair  to  hold  a  book.  You 
put  it  in  front  of  me,  and  you  turn  the  pages. 

BETTY 
You  can't  use  your  hands,  Willie?    You  used  to. 

WILLIE 

They're  not  much  good  to  me  now.  But  I  can  talk, 
I  can!  I — I'm  a  gay  old  bird!  (BETTY  and  TOM 
stare  at  each  other  in  expressive  silence.)  Eighteen 
men  operated,  and  I'm  the  only  one  who  wasn't  killed 
by  it!  Survival  of  the  fittest,  eh?  (He  laughs  his  gur 
gling  laugh.)  I  learnt  that  from  a  book  at  the  hos 
pital.  The  weakest  go  to  the  wall !  (He  laughs  again. 
Then,  suddenly:)  Tom! 

TOM 
Yes,  Willie? 

WILLIE 
B — bet  you  a  dollar  I  live  longer  than  you  do ! 

THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 


THE  SECOND  SCENE 


THE  SCENE 
Is  the  same  as  before. 

THE  TIME 

Two  months  later — an  October  morning. 


THE  SECOND  SCENE 

more  the  room  speaks  for  itself.  Some  of 
the  pictures  still  remain  on  the  wall,  but  they 
no  longer  hang  straight,  and  do  not  conceal 
the  rents  in  the  wall-paper.  A  highly  colored  picture 
of  St.  Francis  throwing  food  to  the  birds,  a  picture 
which  lent  something  of  dignity  to  the  first  scene, 
is  all  askew,  and  the  saint  seems  to  have  acquired 
an  odd  rakishness  of  expression.  The  window  and 
the  floor  are  dirty,  and  litter  of  all  kinds  has  accumu 
lated. 

On  the  couch  sits  BETTY,  tired,  sleepy,  her  head  be 
tween  her  hands.  It  is  little  we  can  see  of  her  as  she 
huddles  up,  in  a  vain  effort,  as  it  were,  to  hide  herself 
from  the  world,  but  the  glance  which  once  appraised 
her  claims  to  beauty  cannot  avoid  the  cheaply  gaudy 
dress,  the  bedraggled  plumes  of  her  hat,  the  cracked 
patent-leather  shoes,  the  sheer  silk  stockings,  and,  as 
she  moves,  the  rouge  and  lip-salve  which  are  so  liber 
ally  applied  to  the  pinched  features.  Her  hand  trem 
bles,  and  the  imitation  jewelry  with  which  it  is  laden 
glitters.  She  is  pathetic — indescribably  pathetic,  and 
she  alone,  in  all  the  world,  cannot  appreciate  it.  For 
her  intelligence,  never  of  the  greatest,  is  quite  unable 
to  cope  with  the  situation.  That  WILLIE,  who,  like 

103 


io4  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

some  heathen  idol,  sits  motionless  in  the  center  of  the 
room,  has  had  something  to  do  with  her  downfall,  she 
recognizes — but  recognizes  dimly.  The  whole  catas 
trophe  is  too  overwhelming,  too  devastating,  and,  with 
it,  has  come  a  blessed  numbness,  a  hazy  indifference, 
under  whose  kindly  anaesthesia  the  poor  thread  of  her 
life  writhes  on. 

WILLIE,  motionless,  sits  in  his  chair,  and  the  smoke 
which  curls  from  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth  lends  a  curi 
ous  emphasis  to  the  continual  play  of  his  twitching 
features.  From  outside,  through  the  unwashed  win 
dow,  comes  a  brilliant  beam  of  sunlight,  a  beam  hot, 
and  quivering  with  life.  And  it  falls  upon  the  meager 
furnishings  of  the  room  and  makes  them  stand  forth 
but  more  sharply  in  their  gaunt  nakedness. 

WILLIE 
Tom!     (There  is  no  answer.)     Tom! 

BETTY 

(Raising  her  head  listlessly) 
What  do  you  want? 

WILLIE 

I — I  want  Tom  to  take  the  cigarette  out  of  my 
mouth. 

BETTY 

(Relapsing  into  her  stupor) 
He's  asleep. 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  105 

WILLIE 

W — well,  I  want  him!  WThat  business  has  he  got 
to  go  to  sleep  now?  Tom!  Tom! 

TOM 

(Appearing  at  the  bedroom  door) 
I   heard  you   the  first  time.      (He  enters.     He   is 
fully  dressed,  and  carries  a  small  bundle.)     There  you 
are. 

(He  snatches  the  cigarette  out  of  WILLIE'S 
mouth.) 

WILLIE 

D — don't  have  to  be  so  rough  about  it!  (He 
pauses.)  D — do  you  hear  me?  Don't  have  to  be  so 
rough  about  it ! 

TOM 

(Crossing  gently  to  BETTY) 
Betty!     (He  touches  her  arm.)     Wake  up,  Betty! 

BETTY 
What  is  it? 

TOM 
The  sheriff  will  be  here  any  minute  now. 

WILLIE 

(Catching  the  word) 
Eh?     Sheriff? 


io6  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

TOM 

(Disregarding  him) 

Betty!      (She   has  sunken   into   her  stupor  again.) 
Listen  to  me,  Betty!     I'm  not  going  to  wait  for  him. 

BETTY 
Eh? 

TOM 
I'm  going  away.     Do  you  understand  that,  Betty? 

BETTY 
What? 

TOM 
I'm  going  away— far  away.    Outside  of  New  York. 

BETTY 

(Beginning  to  realize) 
You're  not  going  to  leave  me,  Tom? 


Yes. 


TOM 
(Resolutely) 


BETTY 

(Fully  wide  awake) 

Tom!     You  don't  mean  it!     You  don't  mean  that 
you're  going  for  good  and  all? 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  107 

TOM 
Yes,  Betty. 

BETTY 
(Aghast) 

Tom!  (With  terrible  suspicion.)  You're  going  be 
cause ! 

(A  vaguely  inclusive  gesture  to  her  tawdry 
finery.) 

TOM 

(Earnestly) 

No — that's  not  why.  I  don't  blame  you.  Under 
stand  that,  Betty,  I  don't  blame  you. 

BETTY 

Then  why ? 

TOM 

Betty,  youve  got  nothing  to  do  with  it!  I'm  going 
away  because  I  want  a  chance  for  myself!  I'm  young! 
I've  got  my  life  before  me!  And  I'm  going  to  make 
the  most  of  it! 

(WILLIE,    in   his  chair,   laughs   harshly.) 

BETTY 
But  why  don't  you  stay  here? 

TOM 
Here? 

(A  torrent  of  ivords  rises  to  his  lips,  but  he 
sees  how  futile  any   explanation   must  be.) 


io8  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

BETTY 

(Desperately) 
If  you  go  away,  Tom,  what  will  become  of  me? 

TOM 
I  don't  know. 

BETTY 
Take  me  with  you! 

TOM 

(Shaking  his  head) 

No.  You'll  hamper  me.  (She  recoils  as  if  struck 
by  a  whip-lash.  He  takes  her  hands.)  Betty:  two 
months  ago  we  had  a  chance,  you  and  I!  But  you, 
you're  done  for!  And  I,  by  God,  I'm  not! 

BETTY 
Tom! 

TOM 

(Vehemently) 

You  loved  him — and  see  what's  become  of  you! 
You're  finished !  You're  down  and  out !  You  can't 
help  me:  you  can  only  hurt  me! 

BETTY 
Tom:  don't  you  love  me? 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  109 

TOM 

Yes!  But  we've  got  no  chance  together!  It's  each 
for  himself,  Betty!  Good-by!  (She  falls  on  his  neck, 
weeping.  Slowly  and  deliberately  he  disengages  her 
arms,  and  with  a  sudden  tenderness,  presses  a  kiss  to 
the  painted  lips.)  Good-by!  (He  turns,  and  his 
glance  falls  upon  the  motionless  cripple,  living  eyes, 
living  mouth,  living  brain,  mocking  him  in  a  dead 
body.  He  nods  gri?nly.)  Willie! 

WILLIE 

(Terrified  as  TOM  draws  near) 
W — what  is  it? 

TOM 

(With  a  short  laugh) 

Oh,  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you!     But  I  want  you 
to  deliver  a  message  to  Mrs.  Todd.      (He  pauses.) 
Tell  her,  Willie,  tell  Mrs.  Todd,  it  didn't  work. 
(He  goes.) 

WILLIE 

(Rather  relieved  at  the  sound  of  his  departing  foot 
steps) 

Survival  of  the  fittest!  Eh,  Betty?  Weakest  go 
to  the  wall!  (He  laughs.)  S — survival  of  the  fittest! 
(Huddled  on  the  couch,  BETTY  weeps  loudly.)  Betty! 
Eh,  Betty! 

BETTY 
What? 


no  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

WILLIE 
Sheriff  coming? 

BETTY 
Yes. 

WILLIE 
Being  evicted,  eh? 

BETTY 

Yes.  (She  wipes  her  eyes  and  blows  her  nose.) 
I  stopped  in  at  the  Society. 

WILLIE 
Yes? 

BETTY 
They're  going  to  send  for  you. 

WILLIE 

Of  course.  (He  grins.)  Couldn't  pitch  me  into 
the  street,  could  they?  G — got  to  take  care  of  me,  eh? 
(She  does  not  answer.)  Betty,  they  call  that  sur 
vival  of  the  fittest!  I'm  fit! 

(  Through  the  open  door  enter  THE  CHARITY 
WORKER  and  THE  SHERIFF,  a  tall,  burly 
individual. ) 

THE  SHERIFF 
(Leading  the  way) 
This  is  the  place,  Mrs.  Todd. 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  in 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

I'm  sure  it's  not.  (She  catches  sight  of  WILLIE.) 
Yes,  it  is.  (Going  up  to  WILLIE,  much  moved.)  Ah, 
my  poor  fellow! 

WILLIE 
H— hello,   Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
(Brushing  dust  from  WILLIE'S  coat) 
What  a  state  you're  in!    They  haven't  taken  good 
care  of  you,  have  they? 

WILLIE 
N — not  very,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

It's  an  outrage!  Nothing  more  nor  less!  (BETTY 
has  risen,  and  faces  her.)  You  heard  what  I  said? 
It's  an  outrage!  A  poor,  helpless  cripple — the  way 
you've  taken  care  of  him!  (BETTY,  rather  confused, 
does  not  move.  THE  CHARITY  WORKER  notices  her 
attire,  and  suddenly  takes  in  its  significance.)  Good 
Heavens!  So  you're  that  kind!  You!  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  that,  Willie?  If  I'd  known,  I  would 
never  have  let  you  come  here!  Never!  (Genuinely 
affected.)  To  think  where  I  sent  you! 

(BETTY  laughs  loudly  and  hysterically.) 


ii2  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Indignant) 
You're  laughing  at  me?     (Appealingly.)     Sheriff! 

THE  SHERIFF 
Don't  mind  her,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
But  she's  laughing! 

THE  SHERIFF 
(Consolingly) 

They've  got  no  feelings,  those  people!  Bite  the 
hand  that  feeds  them!  They're  just  animals! 

BETTY 

(Taking  up  the  word) 

Animals?  An  animal?  Yes!  That's  what  you've 
made  me !  But  I  wasn't  an  animal  till  he  came  here ! 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
What  do  you  mean? 

BETTY 

It  was  hard  enough  to  get  along — only  the  two  of 
us,  Tom  and  me.  And  then  he  came  along,  he,  just 
a  mouth  to  be  fed,  and  hands  that  couldn't  work,  and 
we  didn't  have  the  money,  and  we  couldn't  get  the 
money.  So — well,  that's  why  I'm  that  kind!  Because 
I  couldn't  keep  him  alive  any  other  way! 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  113 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Taken  aback) 
Sheriff:  is  this  true? 

THE  SHERIFF 

(Shaking  his  head  with  an  easy  superiority) 
Not  a  word  of  it. 

BETTY 

What?! 

THE  SHERIFF 

(With  a  contemptuous  wave  of  the  hand) 
She?     She's  no  good  anyhow! 

BETTY 

(Indignantly) 
That's  not  so! 

THE  SHERIFF 

Not  so?     You  think  I  haven't  seen  you  hanging 
around  the  dance  halls  and  the  saloons 

BETTY 

(Interrupting  furiously) 
You  didn't  see  me  there  until  he  came! 

THE  SHERIFF 
(Mildly  amused) 
What? 


ii4  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

BETTY 

I  was  a  good  girl  just  as  long  as  I  could  be!  But 
when  we  had  to  take  care  of  him,  the  money  wasn't 
enough,  and  there  was  nothing  else  I  could  do! 

THE  SHERIFF 
(With  finality) 

That's  what  they  all  say!  There's  nothing  else  any 
of  'em  could  do!  (He  seizes  her  roughly  by  the 
shoulders.)  Listen  to  me,  my  girl!  You're  rotten! 
You're  naturally  rotten!  I'd  tell  you  to  give 
it  up,  but  I  know  your  kind!  You  won't!  It  isn't 
in  you!  You're  no  good — you're  headed  wrong — and 
you  know  where  you're  going  to  finish!  (He  flings 
her  aside,  and  turns  to  THE  CHARITY  WORKER,  with 
a  gesture  to  WILLIE.)  Can  he  walk? 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 
Oh,  no! 

THE  SHERIFF 
I'll  have  the  men  carry  him  downstairs. 

BETTY 

(Near  the  door,  would  like  to  speak,  but  she  is  a  little 
deficient  in  education.  And  after  all,  she  has  said 
what  she  has  to  say.  What  remains  to  be  said  is 
beyond  her — and  above  her.  And  then  THE 
SHERIFF  and  THE  CHARITY  WORKER  are  so 
manifestly  hostile.  THE  SHERIFF  turns  and  sees 
her.) 


ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN  115 

THE  SHERIFF 

(Advancing  on  BETTY) 

Can't  waste  any  more  time  on  you !    Out  you  go ! 


WILLIE 
(Contributing  his  first  word  to  a  scene  of  which  he  has 

been  an  interested  spectator) 
S — survival  of  the  fittest,  eh,   Sheriff? 

BETTY 

(Retreating  before  the  menacing  embodiment  of  the 
law,  pauses  at  the  threshold.  So  many  feelings 
vaguely  surge  within  her.  But  she  is  not  an  adept  at 
choosing  words.  This  room  has  seen  her  tragedy. 
This  she  faintly  comprehends,  but  cannot  find  the 
language  to  voice  illimitable  protest.  And  with  that 
instinctive  desire  to  make  a  dramatic  exit  which  lies 
deep  in  every  one  of  us,  she  gathers  herself  up  in  her 
pitiable  finery.) 

Sheriff! 

THE  SHERIFF 

(Bumping   her  brutally    through   the   door) 
Git! 

(He  follows  her.) 

(A    pause.) 


ii6  ACCORDING  TO  DARWIN 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

(Turns  to  WILLIE,  and  at  his  sight — not  at  the 
thought  of  what  has  just  taken  place,  wipes  a  tear 
from  her  eye.) 

It's  been  pretty  bad,  hasn't  it,  Willie? 

WILLIE 

(In  whose  self-centered  brain  may  lurk  a  better  under 
standing  of  the  situation) 
Y— yes,  Mrs.  Todd. 

THE  CHARITY  WORKER 

What  you  must  have  gone  through!  (She  shakes 
her  head  in  pity.  Then,  with  a  rather  cheerful  smile:) 
Well,  Willie,  have  you  any  other  relatives? 


THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

A  COMEDY 


CHARACTERS 

S  HELTON. 

CARRUTHERS. 
DOROTHY  SHELTON. 
A  BUTLER. 

THE  SCENE 
At  Sheltons. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

/JS    the    curtain    rises,     SHELTON     and    CAR- 
/-f    RUTHERS  are  discovered.     SHELTOX,   a  not 
•*  unattractive  social   butterfly    of  some   thirty- 

five  years  of  age,  has  inherited  wealth,  and  having 
never  had  to  concern  himself  with  productive  labor, 
has  acquired  a  fine  dilettantism :  an  ability  to  do  many 
things  badly,  without  doing  any  one  of  them  so  badly 
that  it  becomes  evident  he  has  neglected  it.  CAR- 
RUTH  ERS,  his  friend,  has  even  less  claim  to  dis 
tinction.  They  would  pass  in  a  crowd — if  the 
crowd  were  large  enough,  but  no  one,  with  the  pos 
sible  exception  of  a  Society  Editor,  would  give  either 
of  them  a  second  glance.  Were  one  to  seek  some 
thing  visibly  commendable  about  them,  one  might  re 
mark  that  they  are  groomed  and  tailored  to  an  ex 
quisite  nicety — too  exquisite,  perhaps.  They  are  in 
full  dress,  for  they  have  just  finished  the  evening 
meal,  and  as  the  assiduous  butler  lights  their  cigars, 
places  the  liqueur  tray  on  the  table,  and  discreetly 
effaces  himself,  they  slowly  push  their  chairs  into 
more  comfortable  positions,  and  look  at  each  other. 
There  is  something  in  that  look:  something  unusual, 
and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  curls  about  the  husband's 
lips  as  he  raises  his  arm  to  consult  a  wrist-watch. 
119 


120        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

CARRUTHERS 
What  time? 

SHELTON 

Twelve  minutes  of  eight — no,  ten  minutes  of.  My 
watch  is  a  little  slow. 

CARRUTHERS 

(Rather  brilliantly,  after  a  pause) 
Thought  it  was  later  than  that. 

SHELTON 

(Having  weighed  the  pros  and  cons  carefully) 
So  did  I. 

CARRUTHERS 
(After  another  pause) 
Thought  it  was  at  least  quarter  past. 

SHELTON 

So  did  I.  (Consulting  the  watch  again.)  It's 
eleven  minutes  of — that  is  to  say,  nine  minutes  of, 
now.  (He  pauses  and  smiles  reflectively.)  Jerry! 

CARRUTHERS 
Yes? 

SHELTON 
I  wonder  what  Cheever's  saying  to  her  now? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        121 

CARRUTHERS 
I   wonder  ? 

S  HELTON 

(Examining  a  time-table) 
Their  train  pulls  out  at  eight. 

CARRUTHERS 

(With  a  trace  of  animation) 

I  thought  you  said  they  were  leaving  this  after 
noon. 

SHELTON 
Eh? 

CARRUTHERS 
The  six  o'clock  train,  you  said  first. 

SHELTON 

Oh,  yes.  But  she  had  to  do  some  shopping.  You 
can't  get  any  decent  clothes  in  Chicago,  you  know. 
(He  chuckles  slowly.)  I  suppose  she  wanted  the 
satisfaction  of  charging  a  final  bill  to  me,  eh,  Jerry? 

CARRUTHERS 
(Nodding  sympathetically) 
It's  cost  you  a  pretty  penny,  all  in  all. 

SHELTON 
(Philosophically) 

Well,  your  wife  doesn't  elope  with  some  other  chap 
every  day,  does  she? 


122        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

CARRUTHERS 
(  Undecidedly  ) 
Er,  no. 

S  HELTON 

This  is  a  special  occasion.  If  Dorothy  feels  she 
has  a  right  to  carte  blanche  on  her  last  day  as  my 
wife,  I  don't  know  but  what  I  ought  to  agree  with 
her.  It's  sentimental,  you  know. 

CARRUTHERS 
But  expensive. 

S  HELTON 

Sentiment  is  always  expensive.  At  any  rate,  I'm 
footing  the  bills.  A  little  more  or  less  doesn't  mat 
ter.  (He  rises,  and  produces  a  mass  of  papers  from 
a  convenient  desk.)  Just  look  at  these. 

CARRUTHERS 
What  are  they? 

SHELTON 

The  detectives'  reports.  (He  thumbs  them  over 
with  a  smile.)  It's  been  like  a  continued-in-our-next 
story.  I've  been  reading  them  for  the  last  month. 

CARRUTHERS 

(Surprised) 

I  didn't  know  you  had  detectives  following  her. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        123 

S  HELTON 

(Confused) 
Er,  yes. 

CARRUTHERS 
Do  you   think  that's  cricket? 

SHELTON 
(Hesitantly) 

Well,  I  couldn't  ask  her  if  she  was  going  to  run 
away. 

CARRUTHERS 
Why  not? 

S  HELTON 

She's  too  good  a  woman  to  lie  to  me — and  I  didn't 
want  to  embarrass  her.  (CARRUTHERS  smiles  cynic 
ally.  SHELTON  crushes  him  politely.)  You  wouldn't 
understand  such  things  anyhow,  Jerry.  (He  bundles 
the  reports  to g ether  again.)  The  last  installment 
reached  me  to-day.  It  took  her  a  month  to  make  up 
her  mind.  Cheever  wanted  her  to  elope  long  ago, 
but  she  wouldn't  hear  of  it.  She  had  scruples.  And 
to-morrow ! 

CARRUTHERS 

(Thinking  he  is  rising  to  the  situation) 
To-morrow's  another  day. 


124        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SHELTON 

(With   a  faint  frown) 

No.  To-morrow  I'll  be  a  free  man — no  wife,  no 
responsibilities,  no  conscience.  Rather  clever  of  me, 
eh,  Jerry?  If  I  had  told  her  I  didn't  mind,  she  never 
would  have  run  off.  Never! 


CARRUTHERS 
She's  a  moral  woman,  your  wife. 

SHELTON 

( Nodding  emp  hatically  ) 

Well,  rather!  (Confidentially.)  Do  you  know, 
I'm  not  sure  that  she  isn't  running  off  with  Cheever 
because  she  wants  to  reform  him?  He's  a  bad  lot, 
you  know;  gambles,  and  drinks,  and  a  devil  with  the 
ladies. 

CARRUTHERS 

(Slowly) 

I'm  not  knocking  anybody,  but  you  used  to  travel 
around  with  him. 

SHELTON 

(Not  at  all  disturbed) 

Yes:  when  I  was  single.  Oh,  I'm  not  making  any 
bones  about  it:  I  was  as  bad  as  he — worse.  (With 
satisfaction.)  Much  worse.  Cheever  and  I,  well,  we 
had  reps!  You  know  what  they  were  like. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        125 
CARRUTHERS 


I  do. 


S  HELTON 
(Solemnly) 

But  that's  all  over  with  now.  I'm  a  better  man 
since  I  married  Dorothy.  She's  reformed  me.  There 
was  lots  to  reform,  too.  I  was  a  bad  'un.  But  that 
didn't  bother  her:  she  enjoyed  it.  She  used  to  talk 
to  me,  just  like  a  mother,  Jerry,  and  she  got  me  to 
cut  out  cards,  and  the  ponies — (he  pauses  reflectively) 
— I  used  to  lose  a  bale  of  money  on  the  races,  Jerry. 
(CARRUTHERS  does  not  answer.  He  finishes  em 
phatically.)  She's  had  an  awfully  good  influence 
on  me. 

CARRUTHERS 

(After  a  period  of  cogitation) 
She's  helped  you? 

S  HELTON 
(Enthusiastically) 

Helped  me?  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you  how  many 
ways 

CARRUTHERS 
(Interrupting) 
Then  why  are  you  letting  her  go? 


126        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SHELTON 
(Taken  aback) 
Eh? 

CARRUTHERS 
Why  are  you  letting  her  run  off  with  Cheever? 

SHELTON 
(Nervously) 

You  don't  keep  on  taking  the  medicine  after  you're 
cured,  do  you,  Jerry?  I'm  cured,  you  know.  And 
I  don't  want  to  be  cured  any  more  than  I  am.  I'm  a 
good  man.  I'm  so  good,  Jerry,  I'm  so  good  some 
times,  that  I'm  almost  afraid  of  myself!  (He  pauses, 
to  continue  candidly.)  It's  so  different — and  so 
strange.  Before  I  married  Dorothy  I  wasn't  good: 
that  was  when  I  went  around  with  Cheever.  But  it 
was  so  comfortable:  I  was  so  sure  of  myself.  I  never 
had  any  regrets.  I  wasn't  afraid  to  drink,  because 
even  if  I — well,  even  if  I  did  take  a  drop  too  much  I 
wouldn't  make  a  fool  of  myself:  I'd  act  just  as  if  I 
were  sober.  (He  emphasizes  his  point  with  a  clenched 
fist.)  Jerry,  I  was  consistent  then!  I  was  depend 
able.  I  never  had  anything  to  be  ashamed  of.  What 
ever  I  did,  well,  I  stood  back  of  it.  I  didn't  have  to 
worry.  And  now?  I'm  living  on  the  brink  of  a 
volcano!  I'm  full  of  all  kinds  of  impulses  to  do  good 
things:  things  I  don't  want  to  do.  I  never  know  what's 
going  to  happen  next,  and  Jerry,  I  don't  like  it!  It's 
not  fair  to  me.  I'm  like  a  man  who  has  swallowed  a 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        127 

stick  of  dynamite:  he's  expecting  it  to  blow  up  any 
minute,  but  if  it  ever  does  blow  up,  there  won't  be 
enough  of  him  left  to  be  surprised  at  it.  (CAR- 
RUTHERS,  considerably  beyond  his  depth,  makes  no 
reply.)  A  man  should  be  true  to  himself.  I  don't 
know  whom  I'm  true  to,  but  it's  not  Billy  Shelton! 
There's  no  Billy  Shelton  left:  he's  nine-tenths  Dorothy, 
and  one-tenth  remnants! 

CARRUTHERS 
( Shifting  uneasily  ) 
Isn't  it  time  to  go  to  a  show? 

SHELTON 

(Consulting  his  watch) 

Eight  o'clock.     That  is,  two  minutes  after.     Jerry, 
she's  gone! 

CARRUTHERS 

All  right.     Let's  get  our  coats  on. 
(He  rises.) 

SHELTON 
No.     Wait   a  minute. 

CARRUTHERS 

(Glancing  at  him  curiously) 
What's  the  matter  with  you? 

SHELTON 
It's  too  sudden.     I  can't  realize  it  yet. 


ia8        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

CARRUTHERS 
You've  been  expecting  it  a  month. 

SHELTON 
Yes. 

CARRUTHERS 
Waiting  for  it — counting  the  hours. 

SHELTON 

Yes.  (He  throws  his  cigar  away  nervously.)  Jerry, 
it's  two  years  since  I've  been  to  a  show  without 
Dorothy. 

CARRUTHERS 
Well? 

SHELTON 
What  are  you  going  to  do  afterwards? 

CARRUTHERS 
Anything  you  like. 

SHELTON 
For  instance? 

CARRUTHERS 

Stop  in  somewheres  for  a  bite.  Look  in  at  the  Club : 
there's  always  a  game  of  stud. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        129 

S  HELTON 

(Nodding  thoughtfully) 

I  used  to  lose  a  lot  of  money  at  that,  Jerry.     (He 
looks  at  him  appealingly.)     Jerry. 

CARRUTHERS 
Well? 

SHELTON 
Would  you  mind — if  I  stayed  home  to-night? 

CARRUTHERS 

(Surprised) 
What? 

SHELTON 

I   mean   it.     I   don't  feel   like  going  out  so  soon 
after 

CARRUTHERS 
It's  not  a  funeral,  you  know. 

SHELTON 
No.     But 

CARRUTHERS 
But  what? 

SHELTON 
Dorothy   wouldn't   like    it. 


130        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

CARRUTHERS 
Good  Lord! 

SHELTON 

(Nodding  seriously) 

I  mean  it.  Anyhow,  you  want  to  see  some  musical 
comedy,  don't  you? 

CARRUTHERS 
Why  not? 

SHELTON 

It  would  bore  me  to  death.  (Rather  shamefacedly.) 
I  used  to  care  for  that  sort  of  thing,  but  Dorothy 
taught  me  to  enjoy  the  opera. 

CARRUTHERS 
(Facing  him   resolutely) 
Answer  me  one  question. 

SHELTON 
Well? 

CARRUTHERS   . 
Is  Dorothy  your  wife,  or  was  she  your  wife? 

SHELTON 
(Hesitantly) 

I  guess  it's  "  is."  You  see,  she's  not  more  than  ten 
miles  away  from  New  York  now. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        131 

CARRUTHERS 
And  you're  afraid  you  may  have  to  account  to  her? 

SHELTOX 

No.  It's  not  that.  She's  left  me,  and  I'm  my  own 
master.  But  the  very  day  that  she  elopes,  don't  you 
think  it  would  be  a  little  (he  searches  for  a  word) — a 
little  indecent  if  I  were  to  start  celebrating?  I'm  a 
gentleman,  Jerry,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  respectful 
to  Dorothy.  She  mightn't  like  it.  (He  lights  on  a 
happy  simile.)  It's  like  reading  the  will  \vhile  the 
corpse  is  still  warm,  isn't  it?  Come  now,  be  honest, 
Jerry. 

CARRUTHERS 
(With  warmth) 
Well,  I'm  thirty-three,  and  I'm  a  bachelor. 

S  HELTON 

What's  the  point? 

CARRUTHERS 

I  say  if  that's  married  life,  I  don't  want  to  get 
married ! 

(The  door  opens,  and  DOROTHY,  a  tall, 
slim,  rather  attractive  woman  in  her  late 
twenties,  stands  on  the  threshold.  She  is 
quite  excited,  and  she  trembles  a  little.  The 
men,  thunderstruck  at  her  sudden  appear- 


132        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

ance,  are  unable  to  voice  a  greeting.  SHEL- 
TON,  collapsed  in  his  chair,  gasps  like  a  fish 
out  of  water,  and  CARRUTHERS,  petrified  at 
the  height  of  an  oratorical  gesture,  is  not 
much  better.) 

SHELTON 
(At  length) 

Good  evening,  Dorothy.  (  DOROTHY  leaves  the 
doorway,  and  staggers  to  a  chair.  SHELTON,  alarmed, 
hastens  to  her.)  Get  some  water,  Jerry. 

DOROTHY 
No,  no.     I  want  nothing. 

(CARRUTHERS,  carafe  in  hand,  stands  mo 
tionless.  SHELTON  indicates  the  door. 
CARRUTHERS  nods,  and  goes.) 

DOROTHY 
Is  he  gone? 

SHELTON 

Yes.  (Genuinely  anxious.)  Is  anything  wrong 
with  you,  Dorothy? 

DOROTHY 
No.  ...   (She  pauses.)     Billy. 

SHELTON 
Yes? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        133 

DOROTHY 
I've  come  back.     I've  come  home  again. 

SHELTON 
(Lamely) 
Yes.     So  I  notice. 

DOROTHY 
You  got  my  note? 

SHELTON 
Your  note?     What  note? 

DOROTHY 
I  sent  it  with  a  messenger  half  an  hour  ago. 

SHELTON 
I  haven't  seen  it. 

DOROTHY 

No?     (She    passes    her    hand    over    her    forehead 
wearily.)      Billy,  it  was  a  farewell. 


What? 


SHELTON 
(With  an  affectation  of  surprise) 


DOROTHY 

I  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  you:  of  running  off 
with  another  man. 


134        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SH  ELTON 

With  Cheever? 

DOROTHY 

You  suspected?  (SHELTON  nods.  She  goes  to- 
ivards  him  with  outstretched  hands.)  Billy,  at  the  last 
minute  something  stopped  me.  Something  made  me 
come  home  to  you. 

(For  an  instant  SHELTON  is  silent.     Then 
comes  the  amazing  question:) 

SHELTON 
Why? 

DOROTHY 
(Staggered) 
What? 

SHELTON 
(Insistently) 

You  were  on  the  point  of  running  away.  You  had 
planned  everything  carefully:  people  don't  do  such 
things  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  What  stopped 
you? 

DOROTHY 

(Gasping  at  the  shock) 
Don't  you  love  me? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        135 

S  HELTON 

(Not  answering  the  question) 

Cheever  is  a  rich  man.  Of  course,  he  hasn't  got  as 
much  as  I've  got,  but  he  has  plenty  to  take  care  of 
you.  The  scandal  you  must  have  been  prepared  for. 
If  you  loved  Cheever,  what  made  you  come  back  to  me  ? 

DOROTHY 
You  don't  love  me,  Billy? 

SHELTON 
Would  that  have  stopped  you? 

DOROTHY 

Would  that  have ?     (She  stops,  thunderstruck 

at  what  she  sees  within  herself.)  I  don't  know! 
(Breaking  down  and  weeping.)  I  don't  know,  Billy! 
( There  is  a  pause.  Then  she  gathers  herself  to 
gether.)  Billy,  look  at  me! 

SHELTON 
Well? 

DOROTHY 
Am  I  a  good  woman? 

SHELTON 
(Hesitantly) 
Well 


136        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

DOROTHY 
Tell  me  the  truth,  Billy. 

SHELTON 
You  were  a  good  woman  when  you  married  me. 

DOROTHY 
(Excitedly) 

Yes!  That's  right!  I  was  a  good  woman  then. 
But  am  I  a  good  woman  now?  (He  hesitates.) 
Answer  me!  Tell  me! 

SHELTON 
(After  a  pause) 
I  don't  know,   Dorothy. 

DOROTHY 
(Desperately) 

Billy,  neither  do  I!  (There  is  a  pause.)  No  girl 
was  ever  brought  up  as  I  was.  We  were  good:  so 
good!  All  the  people  I  met  were  so  good!  I  don't 
believe  any  of  them  ever  had  a  normal  impulse.  They 
were  saints,  Billy,  saints!  Then  you  were  intro 
duced  to  me— you  remember? 

SHELTON 
Yes. 

DOROTHY 

I  thought  you  were  the  worst  man  I  had  ever  met. 
(SHELTON  is  a  little  upset,  but  DOROTHY  proceeds 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        137 

fluently.)  I  had  heard  the  most  awful  stories  about 
you,  oh,  the  most  unbelievable  things!  You  and 
Cheever ! 

SHELTON 
(Nodding) 
We  were  pals. 

DOROTHY 

Yes.  I  began  to  think.  I  knew  that  if  I  married 
a  man  as  good  as  I  was,  I'd  go  mad:  stark,  staring 
mad!  (She  pauses.)  Billy,  have  you  ever  felt  an 
impulse  to  do  something  outrageous? 

SHELTON 
Of  course. 

DOROTHY 
What  happened? 

SHELTON 
I  did  it. 

DOROTHY 

So  did  I!  For  the  first  time  in  my  life!  I  mar 
ried  you! 

SHELTON 
(Offended) 
Thank  you,  Dorothy. 


138        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

DOROTHY 

Oh,  I've  had  no  regrets!  It  wasn't  good  for  me, 
but  I've  enjoyed  it!  I've  enjoyed  it  too  much! 

SHELTON 
What  do  you  mean? 

DOROTHY 

Billy,  do  you  know  you've  had  a  great  influence  on 
me?  (He  cannot  answer.)  Do  you  imagine  a  woman 
can  live  with  you  for  two  years,  as  I  have  lived  with 
you,  and  remain  a  perfectly  good  woman? 

SHELTON 
(Floundering) 
Isn't  that  a  little  strong? 

DOROTHY 

The  truth  is  always  strong.  I'm  not  blaming  you, 
Billy.  You've  exerted  an  influence:  it  was  the  only 
influence  you  could  exert. 

SHELTON 
(Gasping) 
A  bad  one? 

DOROTHY 
The  best  that  was  in  you. 

SHELTON 
Which  is  to  say,  the  worst? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        139 

DOROTHY 
I  suppose  so. 

S  HELTON 

And   Cheever? 

DOROTHY 

Another  impulse.  (She  pauses.)  Billy,  I  never 
knew  until  to-day  how  much  bad  there  was  in  me. 
I  didn't  even  know  it  when  I  began  to  go  around 
with  Cheever. 

S  HELTON 
(Bewildered) 
Do  you  call  him  a  good  impulse? 

DOROTHY 

I  don't  know.  I  didn't  know  whether  it  was  the 
bad  in  him  calling  to  the  bad  in  me,  or  that  which 
was  capable  of  being  reformed  in  him  calling  to  the 
good  in  me!  Which  was  it?  There's  bad  in  me, 
and  there  must  be  some  good  left  in  me.  But  what 
am  I?  A  good  woman  or  a  bad  woman?  I  don't 
know. 

S  HELTON 

(After  a  moment's  reflection) 
You  made  me  stop  gambling. 

DOROTHY 
Yes. 


HO        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SHELTON 
And  drinking. 

DOROTHY 
Yes. 

SHELTON 
Why? 

DOROTHY 
I  wasn't  trying  to  reform  you. 

SHELTON 
No? 

DOROTHY 

That  came  to  me  to-day.  I  used  to  talk  to  you 
about  your  bad  habits  because,  well,  because  I  liked 
to  talk  about  such  things.  I  liked  to  hear  you  tell 
about  them. 

SHELTON 
(After  a  pause) 
Anyhow,  I'm  reformed. 

DOROTHY 
Yes. 

SHELTON 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        141 

DOROTHY 

What  can  I  do  about  it?  I  can't  influence  you  any 
more :  there  isn't  any  me  left.  I  look  into  myself,  and 
I  see  oceans  of  Billy  Shelton,  nothing  but  Billy  Shel- 
ton,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  and  here  and  there, 
tossed  by  the  waves,  a  little  wreckage,  such  pathetic 
wreckage,  that  used  to  be  something  better!  Billy, 
to-day  I  am  what  you  have  made  me. 

SHELTON 
( Thunderstruck) 

Which  is  to  say  that  it  was  /  who  eloped  with 
Cheever ! 

DOROTHY 
That's  what  it  amounts  to. 

SHELTON 

Well  then,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  why  didn't 
it  go  through? 

DOROTHY 

What  do  you  mean? 

SHELTON 

If  the  me  in  you  made  you  run  off  with  Cheever, 
what  brought  you  back? 

DOROTHY 
(After  a  pause) 
Nothing  brought  me  back. 


142        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SHELTON  f 

No? 

DOROTHY 

Cheever  sent  me  back.  (There  is  a  long  pause,) 
We  had  arranged  to  meet  at  the  station.  I  met  him. 
We  were  to  send  our  trunks  ahead  to  Chicago.  Mine 
left  yesterday.  I  was  ready  to  go  through  with  it  to 
the  bitter  end,  but  he 

SHELTON 
He? 

DOROTHY 
He  changed  his  mind  at  the  last  minute. 

SHELTON 

(After  deliberation) 
Why? 

DOROTHY 
That's  what  I've  been  asking  myself. 

SHELTON 
Did  he  give  any  reason? 

DOROTHY 

He  didn't  have  to.  Am  I  a  good  woman  or  a  bad 
woman?  Cheever  knows.  I'm  not  what  he  thought 
I  was.  That's  why  he  didn't  elope  with  me.  He 
found  out  at  the  last  minute. 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        143 

SHELTON 
That  you  were  a  good  woman  ? 

DOROTHY 
Perhaps. 

SHELTON 
Or  that  you  were  a  bad  one? 

DOROTHY 
I'd  give  anything  to  know.     Cheever  knows. 

SHELTON 
And  he  won't  tell. 

DOROTHY 

No. 

SHELTON 

(After  a  thoughtful  pause) 

I  like  his  nerve!  (DOROTHY  looks  at  him  in  mute 
inquiry.)  My  wife  not  good  enough  for  him  to  elope 
with!  (She  does  not  answer.)  Aren't  you  pretty 
enough?  (She  shrugs  her  shoulders.)  Or  clever 
enough?  (He  surveys  her  critically.)  Is  that  some 
thing  new  you're  wearing? 

DOROTHY 
Yes.     I  bought  it  to-day.     Do  you  like  it? 


H4        A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY 

SHELTON 

(Nodding  his  approval) 

Yes.  Looks  well  on  you.  (  There  is  a  knock  at  the 
door.)  Come  in. 

THE  BUTLER 

(Entering  with  a  letter  on  a  salver) 
Messenger  just  brought  a  note,  sir. 

DOROTHY 
Oh! 

SHELTON 

(Glances  at  her.  After  an  instant's  hesitation, 
she  nods  her  permission.  He  takes  it,  slowly  opens 
the  envelope,  and  reads  the  contents.  THE  BUTLER 
waits.  SHELTON  notices  him.)  Well,  why  are  you 
waiting? 

THE  BUTLER 
Is  there  an  answer,  sir? 

S  HELTON 

An  answer?     No. 

(THE  BUTLER  goes.    In  the  ensuing  silence 
SHELTON  tears  up  the  note.) 

DOROTHY 
My  farewell?     (He  nods.)     Well? 


A  QUESTION  OF  MORALITY        145 

S  HELTON 

(Slowly,  as  if  stating  a  mathematical  problem) 

Whatever   you  are,   good   or   bad,    doesn't   matter. 

You've   reformed  me   so   thoroughly   that  you   won't 

go  far  wrong  in  my  company — and  you're  going  to 
have  lots  of  it. 

DOROTHY 
(Submissively) 
Yes,  Billy. 

SHELTON 

You  may  make  slips:  I  expect  you  to  make  slips, 
but  while  I'm  here  to  watch  you  they  won't  be  bad 
ones. 

DOROTHY 
No,  Billy. 

SHELTON 

And  before  I  forget  it:  if  you  have  any  more  out 
rageous  impulses,  they  will  be  in  my  direction.  You 
understand?  (She  nods.  He  folds  her  comfortably 
in  his  arms,  and  smiles  happily.)  From  now  on,  I'm 
prepared  to  enjoy  life. 


THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

A  PLAY 

Here's  my  case.     Of  old  I  used  to  lo<ve  him.  .  .  .  *1 


CHARACTERS 

THE  FATHER. 
THE  MOTHER. 
THE  CHILD. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

/T  is  Christmas  Eve.  A  cheerful  fire  is  blazing 
in  the  old-fashioned  hearth,  and  in  its  wavering 
light  the  contents  of  the  room  seem  to  be  in 
dulging  in  a  grotesquely  weird  dance.  Dignified 
chairs,  well  upholstered  settees,  and  even  the  old- 
fashioned  staircase  at  the  rear  flash  into  sight  for  an 
instant,  and  are  swallowed  up  in  shadows  the  next. 
And  just  beneath  the  staircase,  where  it  curves  to 
wards  the  right  to  the  lower  landing,  is  the  door  of 
the  dining-room,  a  door  with  leaded  glass  in  its  upper 
half,  through  which  comes  a  dim  but  very  steady 
illumination,  a  light  in  curious  contrast  to  the  alter 
nate  brilliance  and  eclipse  of  the  crackling  embers. 

In  the  next  room  the  family  has  just  disposed  of  the 
evening  meal.  There  is  a  clatter  of  dishes,  a  burst 
of  laughter,  and  then,  through  the  suddenly  opened 
door,  all  three, father  with  the  child  on  his  shoulder, 
and  mother  sedately  bringing  up  the  rear,  enter  the 
living-room. 

THE  FATHER 
(In  the  best  of  good  spirits) 

Well!  This  is  something  like!  A  good  dinner, 
and  my  family  round  me,  and  Christmas  Eve!  Eh, 
Donald? 

(He  swings  the  child  to  the  ground.) 
149 


150  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  CHILD 
(Running  to  the  mantel.     He  is  a  robust  little  fellow 

of  twelve  or  thirteen) 
Is  my  stocking  there? 

THE  FATHER 

Your  stocking?  (Turning  to  the  mother  with  mock 
seriousness.)  Where — where  is  Donald's  stocking? 

THE  MOTHER 
I'm  going  to  give  him  one  of  mine.     It's  bigger. 

THE  CHILD 
(Delighted) 
Oh,  mother! 

THE  MOTHER 

And  when  it's  full  of  things  it'll  stretch— it'll 
stretch  ever  so  much.  It  won't  look  like  a  stocking 
at  all!  It'll  look  like  a  great  big  sausage! 

THE  CHILD 
And  all  for  me? 

THE  FATHER 
Everything  in  it! 

THE  CHILD 

Oh!  (He  pauses.)  But  Santa  Claus  might  for 
get  me. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  151 

THE  FATHER 

(Laughing) 

He  won't  do  that!      (Taking  him   on   his  knee.) 
You  wrote  him  a  letter,  didn't  you? 

THE  CHILD 
Oh,  yes!     A  long  letter! 

THE  FATHER 
And  you  put  it  in  the  chimney  last  night? 

THE  CHILD 
(Nodding) 
Right  in  front:  where  he  had  to  see  it. 

THE  MOTHER 

Perhaps  Santa  Claus  has  taken  the  letter  already, 
Donald. 

THE  CHILD 

Would  he  take  the  letter? 

THE  FATHER 

(With  a  wink  at  the  mother) 
Well,  how  would  he  read  it  otherwise? 

THE  CHILD 
I'll  see! 

(He  runs  upstairs.) 


152  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  FATHER 

(Turning  to  the  mother  with  a  laugh) 
I  went  straight  through  his  list  for  him:  got  him 
everything  he  wanted. 

(He  pulls  the  letter  out  of  his  pocket.) 

THE  MOTHER 

(Sitting  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  and  looking  over  his 
shoulder) 

The  pop-gun? 

»» 

THE  FATHER 
Yes.    They Ve  got  a  new  kind  that's  perfectly  safe. 

THE  MOTHER 

And   the    (she   is   evidently    quoting)    real   electric 
motor  ? 

THE  FATHER 
The  genuine  article. 

THE  MOTHER 
And — and What  on  earth  is  that? 

THE  FATHER 
( Taking  the  letter) 
What? 

THE  MOTHER 

(Pointing) 
Y— r. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  153 

THE  FATHER 
(Laughing    uproariously) 
Don't  you  know? 

THE  MOTHER 

(At  a  loss) 
Y— r? 

THE  FATHER 

Yes.  (She  shakes  her  head.)  When  I  was  a  boy 
y — r  spelled  "  wire  "! 

THE  MOTHER 

(Laughing) 
Oh! 

THE  FATHER 

Thank  the  Lord,  I'm  not  so  educated  that  I  don't 
remember  that!  Well,  I  got  ft:  the  whole  business! 
It's  all  under  your  bed.  I  had  to  hide  it  coming  in, 
or  he'd  have  seen  it.  (He  laughs  happily.)  You 
know,  I'm  enjoying  it  as  much  as  he  is!  Playing 
Santa  Glaus! 

THE  MOTHER 
I  believed  in  him  until  I  was  a  girl  of  eleven. 

THE  FATHER 

No? 


154  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  MOTHER 
Really. 

THE  FATHER 
And  your  folks  never  let  on? 

THE  MOTHER 
Never  a  word.    They  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  you  do. 

THE  FATHER 

Funny,  isn't  it?  What  pleasure  we  get  out  of  it? 
I  wonder  why?  I  think  it's  because  you  enjoy  fool 
ing  somebody. 

THE  MOTHER 
Well,  Donald  enjoys  being  fooled. 

THE  FATHER 
But  he  doesn't  know  it. 

THE  MOTHER 

(Nodding) 
Yes.     That's  why  he  enjoys  it. 

THE  CHILD 
(Running  downstairs) 
Father !    Mother ! 

THE  MOTHER 
(Rising  anxiously) 
Look   out,    Donald,   you'll   fall! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  155 

THE  CHILD 

(Reaching  the  landing  safely) 
Mother!     The  letter's  gone! 

THE  FATHER 
You  don't  mean  it! 

THE  MOTHER 
Of  course  it's  gone! 

THE  FATHER 
Santa  must  have  taken  it. 

THE  CHILD 
Do  you  think  so,  father? 

THE  FATHER 
He's  got  to  read  it,  hasn't  he? 

THE  CHILD 
Y— es. 

THE  FATHER 

Then  he  has  to  see  if  he's  got  everything  you  want. 
So  he  comes  the  night  before. 

THE  CHILD 
Oh!    And  will  he  give  me  all  I  want? 

THE  MOTHER 
If  you've  been  a  good  boy,  Donald. 


156  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  CHILD 
How  do  you  know? 

THE  FATHER 

We  don't  know.  We  hope  so!  Isn't  that  right, 
Mary?  We  hope  so! 

THE  CHILD 
(Hesitantly) 

I  asked  for  an  awful  lot. 

. 

THE  FATHER 

(Restraining  his  laughter  with  difficulty) 
Well!     Well! 

THE  CHILD 

A  motor — and  a  bag  of  marbles — (the  mother 
glances  apprehensively  at  the  father,  afraid  that  he 
has  forgotten  this  important  item,  but  he  nods  imper 
ceptibly,  and  continues  to  nod  as  the  child  goes  through 
his  list) — and  a  first  baseman's  glove — and  a  pop-gun 

— and  a  game — and  candy — and — and 

(He  stops  to  think.) 

THE  MOTHER 
(Smiling  at  his  earnestness) 
What  else,   Donald? 

THE  CHILD 
I  guess  that's  all. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  157 

THE  FATHER 

(Laughing} 

If  you  don't  ask  for  anything,  you  never  get  any 
thing.     Now,  you  just  wait  till  to-morrow! 

THE  CHILD 

To-morrow  ? 

THE  FATHER 
And  we'll  see  what  Santa  Claus  has  brought  you. 

THE  CHILD 

Oh!     (A  variety  of  expressions  play  over  his  earnest 
little  face.)     May  I  get  up  early? 

THE  MOTHER 
As  early  as  you  like. 

THE  CHILD 
But  if  I  don't  wake  in  time? 

THE  FATHER 

You  will  if  you  go  to  bed  now.     (As  the  child  hesi 
tates.)     And  I'll  rap  on  your  door  at  six  o'clock. 

THE  CHILD 
(Reassured) 

Don't  forget!     Good-night,  father. 
(He  shakes  hands.) 


158  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  FATHER 
Good-night,  son. 

THE  CHILD 
Good-night,  mother. 

THE  MOTHER 
(Kissing  him) 
Sleep   tight,   dear. 

THE  CHILD 

(Stopping  on  his  way  to  the  stairs) 
Father? 

THE  FATHER 
Yes? 

THE  CHILD 
Have  you  ever  seen  Santa  Claus? 

THE  FATHER 

(Amused) 
Seen  him? 

THE  CHILD 
Really  and  truly  seen  him  yourself? 

THE  FATHER 
No:  I  can't  say  I  have. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  159 

THE  CHILD 
Then  how  do  you  know  there  is  one? 

THE  FATHER 
Well 

THE  CHILD 
If  you  never  saw  him? 

THE  FATHER 
My  father  told  me  about  him. 

THE  CHILD 
Did  he  ever  see  him? 

THE  FATHER 
No. 

THE  CHILD 
Then  how  did  he  know? 

THE  FATHER 
Well,  his  father  told  him  about  him. 

THE  CHILD 
Oh! 

THE  FATHER 

And  he  learnt  from  his  father,  and  so  on,  and  so  on, 
way,  way   back. 


160  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  CHILD 
Oh.     (He  thinks.)     Does  that  make  it  true? 

THE  FATHER 

Well 

(He  is  a  little  nonplussed) 

THE  MOTHER 
(Coming  to  the  rescue) 
Yes,  Donald. 

THE  CHILD 

But  way,  way,  way  back — didn't  anybody  ever  see 
him? 

THE  MOTHER 
Perhaps 

THE  CHILD 
(After  a  pause) 

If  I  grow  up,  and  I  have  a  little  boy,  and  I  tell  him 
something,  and  he  grows  up  and  tells  his  little  boy 
something,  does  that  make  it  true? 

THE  FATHER 

(Laughing) 
It's  time  to  go  to  bed,  Donald. 

THE  CHILD 
(Persisting) 
But  does  it  make  it  true? 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  161 

THE  FATHER 
I'll  tell  you  to-morrow,  Donald. 

THE  CHILD 

(Looks  around  in  perplexity.      Then:) 
Good-night.     (He  goes.) 

( There  is  a  pause.  Father  and  mother  watch 
the  child  with  visible  pride  as  it  climbs  out 
of  sight.  Then:) 

THE  FATHER 
Bright  boy,  isn't  he?    My  boy! 

THE  MOTHER 
(Coming  to  his  side) 
And   mine! 

THE  FATHER 
(Laughing  reminiscently) 
"Does   that  make   it  true?" 

THE  MOTHER 
Well,  does  it? 

THE  FATHER 
As  if  it  mattered! 

THE  MOTHER 
Mattered  ? 


162  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  FATHER 

A  child  can  ask  questions  which  a  wise  man  can't 
answer. 

THE  MOTHER 
But  a  child  has  beliefs. 

THE  FATHER 
At  that  age? 

THE  MOTHER 

At  any  age.  I  can't  help  thinking  that  the  sooner 
its  beliefs  are  true  beliefs,  the  better. 

THE  FATHER 

(Surprised) 
Are  you  serious,  Mary? 

THE  MOTHER 

(Nodding) 

It  strikes  home  sometimes.  We're  all  of  us  chil 
dren — we  "  grown-ups."  It  just  depends  on  the  point 
of  view.  And  we  believe  exactly  what  our  fathers  tell 
us.  Only  we  don't  ask  as  many  questions  as  children 
ask — and  we're  not  so  easily  satisfied  with  the  an 
swers.  But  when  we  do  ask  questions ! 

(She  breaks  off  abruptly.) 

THE  FATHER 
Mary! 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  163 

THE  MOTHER 
(Shrugging  her  shoulders) 

I'll   get  the  things. 

(She  goes  off  into  the  bedroom  at  the  side.) 

THE  FATHER 

(Puzzled) 

What  do  you  mean,  Mary?  (As  she  does  not  an 
swer:)  What  on  earth  do  you  mean? 

THE  MOTHER 

(Returning  with  an  armful  of  bundles) 
Here  is  a  stocking,  Philip.    And  here  are  the  pres 
ents. 

THE  FATHER 
(Pinning  the  stocking  to  the  mantel,  and  arranging 

the  bulkier  presents  on  a  nearby  table) 
What  did  you  mean  by  what  you  said  before  ? 

THE  MOTHER 
(Shaking  her  head) 

You  mightn't  understand,  Philip.  (She  seats  her 
self,  and  watches  him.)  You  know,  when  I  found 
out  that  my  parents  had  been  fooling  me  about  Santa 
Glaus,  I  resented  it. 

THE  FATHER 
At  the  age  of  eleven? 


164  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  MOTHER 

Yes.  Very  much.  That's  why  I  wanted  you  to 
tell  the  truth  to  Donald  long  ago. 

THE  FATHER 
.    (Vibrating  between  the  stocking  and  the  table) 

And  spoil  his  pleasure?  There's  always  time  for 
that. 

THE  MOTHER 

He's  as  old  as  I  was  when  I  found  out.  You  see, 
the  girls  I  went  around  with  explained:  explained 
very  cruelly,  as  they  explained  other  things  a  few 
years  later.  My  parents  never  explained  anything. 

THE  FATHER 
Would  you  put  the  marbles  in  the  stocking? 

THE  MOTHER 

Yes.  At  the  bottom.  (As  he  proceeds  rather  awk 
wardly.)  Take  the  stocking  off  the  mantel.  Don't 
pin  it  up  until  you've  filled  it.  (She  pauses.)  It's 
a  peculiar  world  a  child  lives  in.  A  world  where 
everthing  is  mysterious  and  strange,  but  where  every 
thing  is  terribly  real.  A  world  where  everyone  be 
lieves:  where  everyone  questions:  where  any  answer 
passes  for  truth.  It's  a  world — come  to  think  of  it — 
very  much  like  our  own  world.  (She  rises  slowly  and 
goes  to  a  window,  where  she  pushes  aside  the  cur 
tains  and  peers  out.)  Enough  snow  in  sight  to  satisfy 
even  Santa  Claus,  Philip. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  165 

THE  FATHER 
(Who  has  been  so  busy  arranging  the  table  that  he 

has  not  listened  to  her) 
There!     How  does  that  look? 

THE  MOTHER 
(Dutifully    admiring) 

Very  nice,   Philip.      (She  moves  towards  the  bed 
room.)     Coming  to  bed  soon? 

THE  FATHER 
In  a  few  minutes. 

THE  MOTHER 
All  right. 

(She  goes  out.) 

(The  father  gives  the  finishing  touches  to 
his  work;  stands  off  to  survey  it;  pins  the 
bulging  stocking  to  the  mantel.  Mean 
while  the  child,  dressed  in  nightgown  and 
slippers,  has  come  downstairs.  For  an  in 
stant  the  father  does  not  see  him,  and  con 
tinues.  Then  the  child,  with  a  kind  of  a 
gasp,  comes  up  to  him.) 

THE  CHILD 
Father! 

THE  FATHER 
Eh?    Donald?    But  you  ought  to  be  in  bed! 


166  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  CHILD 
I  came  down  to  see. 

THE  FATHER 
You  shouldn't  have  done  that. 

THE  CHILD 
Father!     There  isn't  any  Santa  Claus! 

THE  FATHER 

Well,  well,  so  that's  it?  (He  breaks  into  a  peal 
of  laughter.)  You  had  to  find  it  out  sooner  or  later, 
didn't  you? 

THE  CHILD 

You  and  mother  have  been  giving  me ?     ( The 

father  nods.)     Why  didn't  you  tell  me? 

THE  FATHER 

Why  ?  Because  my  father  did  the  same  thing,  Don 
ald.  (  The  child's  lip  quivers.  The  father  seats  him 
self  near  the  fire.)  Come  here,  Donald.  (He  takes 
him  on  his  lap.)  Once  a  year,  Donald,  we  celebrate 
Christmas.  And  because  we  want  all  the  children  to 
be  happy  when  Christmas  comes,  we  tell  them  this 
story:  that  there  is  a  Santa  Claus,  who  loves  chil 
dren,  and  brings  them  presents,  so  that  they  shall  be 
happy.  I  believed  it  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  when  you 
are  a  man  you  will  tell  it  to  your  little  boy. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  167 

THE  CHILD 
Even  if  it  isn't  true? 

THE  FATHER 

(Nodding) 

Because  it's  a  beautiful  story.    Because  it  will  make 
your  children  happy  just  as  it  has  made  you  happy. 

THE  CHILD 
But  if  I  don't  believe  it  myself  ? 

THE  FATHER 
You  will  want  them  to  believe  it. 

THE  CHILD 

Why? 

THE  FATHER 
Because  it  will  make  them  happy. 

THE  CHILD 

Oh!      (After  a  pause.)      It's  better  to  be  happy 
than 

THE  FATHER 
Than  what? 

THE  CHILD 
Than   to  know   what's  true,   isn't  it? 


1 68  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  FATHER 
(After  a  pause) 
Sometimes,  Donald.    Yes.    Sometimes. 

THE  CHILD 
So  all  fathers  tell  their  children  stories  like  that. 

THE  FATHER 

(Nodding) 
They  are  beautiful  stories. 

THE  CHILD 
(After  a  pause) 

Nora  told  me  the  Bogie  Man  lived  in  the  dark. 
That  wasn't  a  beautiful  story. 

THE  FATHER 

(Smiling) 
Well? 

THE  CHILD 
Is  it  true  ? 

THE  FATHER 

No. 

THE  CHILD 
Then  why  did  she  tell  me? 

THE  FATHER 
Because  somebody  told  her  that  when  she  was  a  child. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  169 

THE  CHILD 
They  were  fooling  her,  weren't  they? 

THE  FATHER 
Perhaps  they  believed  it. 

THE  CHILD 
Even  if  it  wasn't  true? 

THE  FATHER 
Perhaps  they   didn't  know. 

THE  CHILD 

Oh!  (He  thinks.)  So  some  day  somebody'll  tell 
them  they've  been  fooling  them — like  about  Santa 
Claus. 

THE  FATHER 
Perhaps. 

THE  CHILD 

And  then  they'll  tell  Nora,  and  Nora'll  tell  me. 
(He  pauses.)  But  if  they  don't  tell  Nora? 

THE  FATHER 
It's  time  for  you  to  be  in  bed,  Donald. 

THE  CHILD 

But  I  want  to  know!  Nora  says  somebody'll  die 
if  you  break  a  mirror.  Is  that  true? 


170  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  FATHER 

No. 

THE  CHILD 
Nora's  been  fooling  me. 

THE  FATHER 

Because  somebody  else  has  been  fooling  her.  You 
must  remember  that  silly  people  invent  reasons  for 
things  they  can't  understand.  Those  aren't  beautiful 
stories:  we  call  them  superstitions. 

THE  CHILD 
Super ? 

THE  FATHER 
Superstitions. 

THE  CHILD 
Oh!     So  it  isn't  bad  luck  to  spill  the  salt? 

THE  FATHER 
Of  course  not. 

THE  CHILD 
Or  to  walk  under  a  ladder? 

THE  FATHER 

(Smiling) 
Where  did  you  learn  all  of  that  rubbish? 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  171 

THE  CHILD 
(Persisting) 
And  the  stork? 

THE  FATHER 
What  do  you  mean?    What  stork? 

THE  CHILD 

The  stork  that  brings  little  babies? 

THE  FATHER 

(Laughing) 
There  isn't  any. 

THE  CHILD 
Then  how  do  they  come? 

THE  FATHER 
(Rising) 

I'll  explain  that  to  you  when  you  are  older,  Donald. 

THE  CHILD 
Why  not  now? 

THE  FATHER 

Because  you  wouldn't  understand.  Because  there 
are  some  of  the  beautiful  stories  we  don't  explain 
until  you  are  grown  up.  It  won't  be  so  long  now, 
Donald.  Then  I'll  tell  you.  (He  swings  him  up  in 
the  air.)  Good-night,  son. 


172  THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY 

THE  CHILD 

(Fascinated  by  the  sight  of  the  full  stocking  and 
the  Christmas  presents  as  he  looks  over  his  father's 
shoulder.) 

Oh!     Is  everything  there? 

THE  FATHER 
Everything ! 

THE  CHILD 
Everything  I  asked  for? 

THE  FATHER 
The  marbles — and  the  pop-gun 

THE  CHILD 
And  the  first  baseman's  mitt? 

THE  FATHER 
Yes.     And   the   really,    truly   motor! 

THE  CHILD 
Oh!     And  the  candy? 

THE  FATHER 

Just  wait  till  to-morrow!  (He  kisses  him;  carries 
him  to  the  staircase  and  sets  him  down  on  the  first 
step.)  Good-night,  little  man! 

THE  CHILD 
(Running  upstairs) 
Good-night,  father. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  STORY  173 

THE  FATHER 
(Stands  in  thought  an  instant;  he  smiles.     Then,  very 

softly,  he  calls  upstairs:) 
Good-night,  little  man! 

(He  extinguishes  the  lamps,  and  then,  still 
smiling,  crosses  into  the  bedroom,  closing  the 
door  behind  him.) 

(A  pause.  The  room  is  lit  only  by  the 
dying  fire,  and  the  furniture  has  resumed 
its  grotesque  dance.  Then  the  white-clad 
figure  of  the  child  becomes  visible  on  the 
stairs. ) 

THE  CHILD 

Father!  (There  is  no  answer,  but  the  child  evi 
dently  takes  a  shadow  in  the  corner  of  the  room  for 
the  father.)  Father!  I'm  not  going  to  say  my  prayers 
to-night!  (He  pauses  for  an  answer.  There  is  none.) 
Father!  I  know  something  else  you've  been  fooling 
me  about!  You've  been  fooling  me  about  God! 

(He  breaks  into  childish  laughter.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  sees  that  the  room  is  empty. 
This  is  his  opportunity.  Noiselessly  he 
crosses  to  the  fireplace,  removes  the  stocking, 
and  walking  softly  so  that  he  will  not  be 
heard,  creeps  upstairs  with  it.) 

(A  long  pause.) 

CURTAIN 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE.  •*• 


OCT    3    1933 


OCT    194933 

y 

tft  ^si 

&H  J-a 

ocp  28    1939 

MAR   17 


ST  151940 


'941 


NOV  11  1946 

LD  21-100m-7,'33 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


